Senses
by akaiciel
Summary: Tyson and Max try to figure out what they think of each other and themselves - fluffy drama with angsty undertones, Tyson POV. Chapter 4 up!
1. Sight

A/N: I've made some extremely minor revisions to nothing important, but have smoothed some of the rough edges that niggled every time I re-read the fic.   
  
Huge thanks go out to everyone who's reviewed this fic, but particularly **Kitzaku-san** and **Jin Munku-JGSPTV**, who were the only ones to review when Sight was just a one-shot, and I appreciated it muchly!  
  
Akai  
28/04/03  


**SIGHT**

  
Max is my friend. I knew it when I saw him running towards me the day we met, and I was certain of it when he pulled out his beyblade. I didn't know his name, I didn't know how old he was, and if he lived anywhere near me or was in my class at school, I still had to find that out; all I knew was that this laughing blonde kid was my friend.   
  
Max. He's a really happy guy, y'know? I mean, he loves to blade (who wouldn't?) and he's always talking, and he likes pizza… Even if we hadn't hit it off straight away like we did, it wouldn't have taken long. I've only known Max a little while, a few months maybe, but I was pretty sure he couldn't get mad or angry in any way.   
  
Well, I was wrong. "As usual", Kenny would say. He's told me before that I'm a really bad judge of character. I told him that that's because I don't judge people's characters the way he does, I just act like me and see who's still around a half-hour later. He shook his head at that, but I just shrugged. I mean, it's no big deal, right? If people don't like who I am when I'm being completely honest with them, it's best for everyone if we know that straight away. I'm not going to change myself just to act how someone thinks I should! What's the point? You can't change who you are anyway, not deep down.   
  
Max comes over a lot. We slouch in my room playing video games and watching movies with pizza, popcorn, ice cream and Coke until we pass out or, on a school night, I get yelled at to turn it off and go to sleep. The other night, Max came over especially, because my grandpa was "out on the town with his homies" (playing an all-night poker game with some friends.) It doesn't matter what he calls it though; when he's out on the town, he's out all night, and that's good enough for me!   
  
So, Max came over as usual, and we had a great time (as usual) but something weird happened that night. I still have no idea why, but when Max and I were leaning against the wall playing video games, my left knee was touching his right one.   
  
That's not weird, I don't think, but the fact that I left it there and so did he - now that's weird! Most guys would shift their legs straight away, right? And then they'd sort of mumble "Sorry," really quietly and act like nothing had happened. Because you have to, that's what guys do, to prove that they don't actually _like_ having another guy's knee touching theirs, that it was just an accident and that's all.   
  
But we didn't. We pretended it wasn't happening, for the whole game, but we didn't actually stop it happening. And then, when I sat down after switching the video game to a movie, my entire left arm was touching his entire right arm.   
  
I expected him to move away, and say real quickly how sorry he was, and laugh about it because he's Max, but... he didn't.   
  
What was even weirder is that I didn't either. I did what we'd done before, and ignored it totally, concentrating on the movie.   
  
Well, I tried to concentrate on it, but I think I spent most of it not looking at Max. Seriously, every time I realised how close we were, there was this weird tingling below my neck and in the back of my throat - _not_ looking at him was harder than it sounds!   
  
It didn't work, either. Halfway through the film, I twitched, and glanced in his direction. I hoped he wouldn't notice, but I was wrong, again. He noticed, all right. But he still didn't move away. He looked right at me and laughed.   
  
It wasn't a mean laugh, and it wasn't a nervous laugh. It was a Max laugh, that's all, the same Max laugh I've heard a million times and not gotten sick of yet. I ended up laughing with him, and settled back to watch the movie.   
  
Suddenly, I could feel his arm move. I panicked, sure he was about to try and hold my hand.   
  
Arms and knees are one thing (well, two things, or four things, actually) but a hand is another thing, a _really_ off-limits thing. So I jumped up and said loudly, "Hey Max! I challenge you to a battle!"   
  
I tried not to look at his hand, but there it was - grabbing a bunch of popcorn.   
  
I can be such an idiot.   
  
"What for?" he said with his mouth full. "We played before, remember?"   
  
I shrugged and said, "What's wrong with playing again?"   
  
He swallowed and scratched his head, still grinning. "Nothing, I suppose. Okay, let's do it!"   
  
Four minutes later, we were by my beyblade dish, and two minutes after that, we were shouting, "Let it rip!"   
  
Even though I was trash-talking like always, I couldn't get my head around what had happened upstairs. I thought about how I'd spent so much time trying not to look at him, why I hadn't pulled away, whether I was glad Max hadn't held my hand, or-  
  
"And you're out of there!"   
  
I hadn't even noticed as Draciel knocked Dragoon out of the dish. Max grinned at me and said sort of teasingly, "You'd better watch out, Tyson, or I'll be the world champion next year!"   
  
I laughed a bit too hard and said, "Yeah, maybe in your dreams, blondie!" He just grinned at me some more and held up his launcher.   
  
"Three…"  
  
"Two…"  
  
"One…"  
  
"Let it rip!"   
  
This time I pushed everything I didn't want to think about to one side, sort of like when I have to clean up my room. Instead, I actually concentrated on what I was doing, and sure enough, I won.   
  
"Ha, take that you amateur!" I gloated. "You should've known you had no chance against me!"   
  
Max had been laughing as usual, but at that, his smile just… left. It faded away, and I saw Max nettled for the first time.   
  
"Is that what you really think?" he said. He was still trying to smile, you could tell, but he didn't sound like Max anymore.   
  
So I laughed instead. I figured if I did, maybe he would too. "No, don't be stupid, I just-"  
  
"So why did you say it?"   
  
"Why did I say what?" I asked impatiently, a little frustrated by this time.   
  
"That I should've known I had no chance against you!"   
  
Was he for real? "Max, I was just kidding. It was a joke, J-O-K-E, ever heard of one of those?"   
  
Yeah, and at that particular moment he was F-U-R-I-O-U-S.   
  
"Well ha ha then," he said sarcastically, "But we haven't done the third round yet!" He lifted his launcher, and I joined him.   
  
"Fine then," I said, suddenly annoyed. "But it's strange how you and I trash-talked our way through this entire battle, but it only mattered when you lost! Don't you think that-" But I couldn't finish what I was saying; Max had put his launcher down and turned away.   
  
"You're right," he said. If I hadn't been listening really hard though, I wouldn't have heard him, not in a million years, he spoke that quietly. Which is weird, Max isn't exactly the shy, retiring flower type. He looked up at me and grinned, exactly as he did before. "Sorry Tyson! Guess I blew up at you for no reason, huh?"   
  
"Guess you did," I said, frowning. He tucked his blade and launcher in his pockets.   
  
"Hey, let's go get something to eat!" he said, as enthusiastic at the prospect of pizza as he is about everything.   
  
But I wasn't letting him get away with it that easy. He looked right then exactly like he always looks: happy. Did that mean he was always hiding the Max I saw just a second ago?   
  
I had to know.   
  
"Max!" He turned back around, eyes wide open like some stupid kid. But Max isn't a stupid kid, and I was just figuring out that he wasn't a completely happy kid either.   
  
"C'mon Tyson, there's pizza waiting! Or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, how about it? I make the best chocolate milkshakes, my mom used to-"  
  
"Max," I repeated, and he stopped talking. I went up to him and looked in his eyes.   
  
I've always heard that eyes are the windows to the soul, or something like that, and I was sort of hoping there'd be something there to tell me what was going on. Well, that soul stuff is a load of bull; I couldn't see a thing there but blue. Max's eyes are blue. I'd never really noticed before.   
  
"You ranked joint third in the whole country, remember?"   
  
He laughed. "Of course I remember! I was there!"   
  
"And you're part of the number one team in the world, right?"   
  
He nodded enthusiastically. "Right!"   
  
He didn't get my point at all.   
  
"Max!" I yelled. "You're not listening!"   
  
His smile left for the second time. That must be some kind of record or something. I'd known Max for months and never once seen him get mad, then in one night, I'm the one who finally finds out where his nerves are kept and gets on them. Twice.   
  
Great.   
  
"I'm listening, all right!" he said angrily. "You're telling me I'm a third-rate beyblader-"   
  
"Max, you were third place in one tournament, you're _not_third-rate!" I said, sort of... I don't know, shocked, I suppose, that he could even think that I thought he wasn't any good.   
  
"But not as good as you, right, Tyson?"   
  
When I have no idea what to say, I end up going with the first thing that comes into my head, no matter how unhelpful.   
  
"Rei was third too!"   
  
A bit like that.   
  
"Rei didn't finish his match!" Max said, raising his voice. "Did you ever think that he might have beaten you if he'd played round three? I bet he has! He knows he's good, no matter where he placed! But I played Kai and-"  
  
Saying the first thing that comes into your head isn't the smartest thing to do, but I'm not the smartest guy either. So, even though I'd already made him even angrier by doing just that, I went right ahead and said:   
  
"But Max, Kai's inhuman!"   
  
Right, because that's the point he was making...   
  
I could've kicked myself, really hard. Seriously, how irrelevant can I get?   
  
And Max knew it. "Tyson, that's so lame!" he said, staring at me. "Who cares if Kai's inhuman or not? He's the captain of the Bladebreakers, and a champion in his own right."   
  
"He also has no friends!"   
  
"Which is probably _why_ he's so good!" Max shouted at me. "If I spent less time around here eating pizza and playing stupid games, I could spend more time practising, and be better!"   
  
I frowned. "Max, you're the friendliest guy I know. How can you stand there and say you don't want all these people to like you? Kai's a machine, do you really want to be like that?"   
  
"Sometimes, yes, I do, okay?"   
  
I'd had enough of this. It's always been my policy to say exactly what I think, so that's exactly what I did.   
  
"Well then maybe you should go home, get some more practise!" I yelled. "I mean, if it bothers you so much to hang out with me, we probably shouldn't do that anymore! I know I don't want to stand in the way of Max, the Friendless Juggernaut Machine on his quest to be a world champion beyblader!" I turned away, and began to walk inside. "You should hook up with Kai, you two could get along real nice!"   
  
"Well fine!" I heard him say furiously, and he just walked away, right there and then.   
  
I was just thinking about how weird this whole night had been, when it suddenly hit me that he was leaving.   
  
After a moment of shock, I thought it through. I figured it was Max's problem if I'd been myself, and he couldn't deal with that. And that was fine, I have other friends who don't start stupid fights. I'd probably be better off without him, if he was that unpredictable.   
  
_Do you really want Max to be predictable and happy all the time?_  
  
Okay, I still don't know where that came from, but I'm telling you now, it whacked me in the face as if Max himself had slapped me.   
  
_Do you really believe the world should change to fit in around you?_  
  
Put like that, it sounded almost... I don't know, selfish or something. Obnoxious at least. But people called me obnoxious all the time, and it had never bothered me before...   
  
_Max showed you something different tonight, for the first time, and you couldn't handle it. _  
  
"But he started it!" I muttered, trying to stop these thoughts. What a weird night...   
  
_And why did he start it? You don't know even know why he was being so touchy! You didn't even bother to find out! Besides, does it even matter? If he leaves now, he won't come back._  
  
_Shows how much you know_, I thought resentfully. _Max doesn't hold grudges, I'm sure of it. _  
  
_No, but you do. Max won't come back because you won't let him. Your stupid, pig-headed pride won't let him. _  
  
Why were my own thoughts rebelling in my head? It didn't seem fair, I was a captive audience.   
  
If Max would really never come back, I would only ever see him at matches, only ever with a beyblade in his hand. I didn't want that, not at all! I like it when Max comes over and we watch movies and eat pizza. I know it's weird, but I also kind of liked that we could have our knees touching and not care at all.   
  
But I didn't want him around because we'd had one little fight? Because he wasn't as predictable as I thought? That made no sense, even to me.   
  
I heard the door click. He came outside with his bag, completely ignored me and walked to the end of my front yard.   
  
_Maybe I should-_  
  
I was running after him before I'd even finished thinking about it.   
  
"Max!"   
  
He carried on walking.   
  
"Hey, Max! Stop!"   
  
I ran round in front of him, blocking his way out. He glared at me and I glared right back.   
  
"What do you want?" he said, and hearing his voice so hostile made me wish I hadn't bothered. But I had started it, so I had to finish it.   
  
"Why did you just blow up like that?"   
  
He looked away, but his voice sounded softer when he spoke again.   
  
"It doesn't matter, really, I shouldn't have and I'm sorry." He began to walk away again, past me. "See you at practice."   
  
"Max."   
  
He didn't stop.   
  
"Max!"   
  
He carried on walking.   
  
"Please don't go."   
  
I never, never, _never_ask people to stick around if they want to leave. Never. I mean, if they can't deal with me being who I am, that's their problem, not mine. But... I don't know, suddenly it felt like I'd be the one missing out on something if Max left.   
  
He stopped, and turned around. When he did, I knew that he got just how weird it was for me to beg him to stay like that. But I didn't regret it this time, because he wasn't looking angry any more. "Look, Tyson, you don't want me around, and that's okay. It's better that you tell me now and I-"  
  
My previous thoughts exactly, but we were both wrong.   
  
"No! That's not what I..." I trailed off, because - well, I had no idea what to say. I tried again. "Look, Max, I do want you around, but I don't want to not know where you're coming from when you pick a fight with me!"   
  
We carried on looking at each other, but it wasn't glaring anymore. Actually, I don't know what we were doing. Max's head was tilted to one side, like he was thinking hard. It was weird though, it was like he was trying to figure out something about me.   
  
He spoke first, sounding really tired, even though it wasn't that late.   
  
"Tyson, when we have to do interviews and stuff, what do they ask you?"   
  
"What does that have to do with anything?"   
  
"_What do they ask you_?"  
  
I thought for a second. "Mostly about what it's like to be a complete rookie suddenly in the spotlight. Why?"   
  
"Do you have any idea what they ask me?"   
  
"You've never really talked about it before."   
  
"That's because they ask me what it's like to be the weakest link on a team like the Bladebreakers."   
  
My eyes boggled, I swear. I couldn't stop blinking.   
  
"And they ask me how I felt being the only Bladebreaker to lose a match against the White Tigers, and what it's like being friends with Tyson, the rising star of beyblading, and if I've heard the rumours that I'm going to be replaced-"  
  
"Max!" I shouted, not caring what I said as long as it stopped him saying things like that. However, this time, the first thing that came into my head wasn't so bad after all. "Mr Dickinson would _never_ replace you, never!"   
  
"But Tyson, it's true!" The way he said it, I knew he must have been thinking about this for a long time. "I _am_ the weakest link on the team! They _should_ replace me, you should replace me, and I don't know why you haven't already!"   
  
"Because we couldn't replace you even if we wanted to!" I said in a "don't be silly" voice, more than a little irritated that he'd even think we would, let alone expect us to. "You're too good Max, you've just come up against some good competitors, that's all!"   
  
"So have you! So has Rei! Neither of you lose as many matches as I do!"   
  
I wanted to scream, to shout at him, to try and get it into his thick, blonde head how good he was, how I'd never met anyone like him. Instead, I said quietly, "Max, you're one of the best bladers I've ever met. You deserve to be on the team."   
  
He nodded dismissively, and I felt like shaking him. Instead, I did something weird. It was a really weird night.   
  
I hugged the guy, actually put my arms round him and pulled him close. I don't know why I did it, I just couldn't stand to see him that miserable for another second. Something had to be done, and apparently, this was it.   
  
"No, Max, you're not listening!" I whispered. "You're one of the _best bladers I've ever met_. You _deserve_ to be on the team."   
  
Max slumped slightly. I know what people look like when they're defeated, and Max was well and truly beaten. But he needed to get those things out of his head and in front of me, so I could deal with them with him. It was a good kind of defeat, and that's what counts.   
  
Suddenly, I realised I was hugging another guy.   
  
I let go again quickly, of course, and mumbled, "Sorry," straight away, but it was too late.   
  
I probably could have come up with something to say at that point, to laugh it off, but Max was giving me this weird, sort of... intense look. Really serious. It knocked me off balance.   
  
"I… I…" I stuttered, feeling trapped. And let me tell you, it sucked! The one time I actually had something real to say, and not a single thing in my brain was working. How is that fair?   
  
I wanted to tell him I'm not like that really, that it was just a one-off, but at the same time let him know that I didn't regret it, I just didn't want him to get the wrong idea. I wanted to tell him I'm an idiot, and I don't say things like they're supposed to be said, but that we need him on the team, and I couldn't imagine beyblading without him anymore. I wanted to tell him so many things - but as it turned out, I didn't need to.   
  
Max knew. I don't know how, but he did. He just knew, straight away, exactly what I wanted to say, and saved me the trouble of actually saying it by slipping his arms around my neck and hugging me back.   
  
The second weirdest thing of this whole weird night, beaten only by me hugging him first.   
  
I wasn't sure what to do. I mean, girls hug each other all the time, but I'm a guy, it's not something I've ever really thought about! I didn't know if I should like, hug him back, or push him away, or act like it was a big joke, or what.   
  
My thoughts were interrupted when I heard Max whisper, "Thank you, Tyson," and suddenly it didn't matter. I'd been the one allowed to see Max get angry for the first time, and I'd been the one allowed to cheer him up again. If that was the way it was going to be from now on, I figured I could deal with that.   
  
While I was standing there, reality kicked in, and I realised how cold Max was. Then I realised how cold I was.   
  
"Hey, we should go inside, finish that movie?" I suggested.   
  
I'd known that he'd laugh, but I didn't realise how good it would sound after everything he'd said that night. "Sounds good to me, Tyson!" he said cheerfully. Then he jumped up and ran away. "Race you to your room!" he called over his shoulder.   
  
And that was it. In most ways, it was as if nothing had ever happened.   
  
The girls I know hang around with their "best friends", and do a lot of whispering and hugging and stuff like that. Well, that's kind of what me and Max ended up like, sharing secrets and holding hands. Actually, we never told each other a single secret or held each other's hands once, but it was like… you know, like we could if we wanted to, and it wouldn't matter at all.   
  
I guess Max is like, my best friend or something, and that's fine by me. I mean, as long as it's not in public or anything, it's actually really cool to have someone who doesn't mind putting their arms around me sometimes, or saying things like, "Life would be really boring if you weren't around, Tyson." Which he does. Sometimes I even answer, tell him that it'd suck around here without him. Then we shut up and watch whatever movie's on, or carry on with the video game.   
  
So… That's what's going on, and I like it a lot, even if it is weird. It's a good kind of weird, and that's what really counts, right?  



	2. Taste

A/N: Again with minor, unimportant revisions (aside from the major fact to revise that this fic appeared twice over, which has been annoying me for quite a while now...)  
  
However, the reason for these changes - as anyone who's made it this far might want to know - is that the third instalment of the Senses Arc is written, and pending beta! That's right, after months of agonising over not writing it, it wrote itself in two days flat, as has the fourth instalment, also pending rewrites at this time.  
  
Once again, many thanks to all reviewers for this fic so far, you've been a real source of motivation for me, and I hope you can find the time to read my other Tyson/Max fics, I'd love to hear what you think!  
  
Until the next set of pointless revisions...  
  
Akai  
28/04/03  


**TASTE**

  
The fact that Max actually had a life before he moved to my town is something I don't really think about that much. I mean, if he reminds me for whatever reason then sure, I'll remember, but really, as far as I'm concerned, Max only started to exist when he moved into the house twelve minutes walk from mine.   
  
That's probably why I was surprised when Max got a letter and said it was from "a friend at school." I blurted out, "What friend?" which, of course, made him smile.   
  
"Okay, first of all, "Which friend?" probably would've been more flattering, Tyson," he laughed. I grinned at him with a mouth full of toast (I'd stopped by his house for breakfast. Did I mention that Max's dad is the _best_ cook?) and said, sort of muffled, "Fine then, _which_ friend?"   
  
"It's not which friend, Tyson, it's which _school_," he corrected me, and I remembered about that whole "other life before he got here" thing. But even though I'd remembered that, nothing could stop me being surprised by what happened next.   
  
"Hey, it's from Lucy!" he said, sounding real pleased.   
  
"Who's Lucy?" I asked with my mouth full.   
  
"My girlfriend."   
  
He said it so casually, but I practically spat out my orange juice.   
  
"Your what?" I exclaimed, spraying this mixture of crumbs and OJ over his dining table. I'm lucky Max ignores stuff like that, or he'd have kicked me out of his house long ago.   
  
"My girlfriend. Well, my ex-girlfriend, but I still talk to her a lot. We broke up when I moved here."   
  
I finally swallowed, and said, "Max, you had a girlfriend?"   
  
He glanced sideways at me, smiling. "Yeah, I had a girlfriend!" he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It was only for a year or so, but-"  
  
"A year?!"   
  
"Calm down, it was just a kids thing."   
  
"A kids thing?!"   
  
"Yeah. You know, holding hands in the playground, kissing, stuff like that."   
  
Kissing?   
  
I didn't even realise I hadn't said that out loud until Max flicked my forehead and said playfully, "Hey, where'd my echo go?"   
  
I flicked him back and said, "So, why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend?"   
  
He shrugged, said, "It wasn't a big deal," and flicked me again.   
  
Of course, after that, I had to start pounding him, and he gave as good as he got until we were in a proper fight. Well, a proper play-fight anyway, sort of like when jocks wrestle for fun.   
  
But then I heard a smashing sound, followed by Max wailing, "Aww, man!"   
  
Max's dad showed up the way he tends to when we break things, and told us not to worry about it, but that he thought it'd be better if we played outside.   
  
It's easy to see where Max gets a lot of his habits. Him and his dad are a lot alike - luckily for me, that includes the way they both laugh off things like broken plates, or forget kicked out, I'd have been banned for life!   
  
Anyhow, when we were outside and lying on the grass, I must have been acting strange or something, because suddenly Max was saying, "What's up?" I asked him what he was talking about, and he said, "You're just quite quiet, that's all. Penny for your thoughts?"   
  
I didn't even have to think about it. That's just the way it is now.   
  
"Well," I said hesitantly, "I was just wondering... I was just wondering what it's like to... you know, to kiss a girl, and stuff like that."   
  
A lot of people think Max treats everything lightly because he's always laughing or smiling or cracking some joke, but the fact is that he knows better than anyone else when it's not okay to laugh. I don't know how he does it, it's instinct or something I guess, and if you don't want to be laughed at, he won't even crack a grin.   
  
"It's weird," he said finally, sounding thoughtful, like it was an effort to remember.   
  
"Weird?" I prompted, kind of hoping he'd expand on that a little.   
  
"Yeah. I mean, it's nice, after a while, but it's weird too. But the more you do it the more you want to do it, so I don't know." He grinned. "Maybe it's just that it's better when you're older than twelve?"   
  
"Yeah, maybe," I said, unconvinced. Suddenly I was looking forward to getting married a whole lot less. "So... how come you picked her to be your girlfriend?"   
  
He laughed. "It wasn't exactly "picked" - I think we got set up by her friends. We were at some party, and they were playing Spin the Bottle and stuff like that, and I kept getting paired off with Lucy."   
  
By her friends - as in, she was the one who liked him. That made sense; I bet Max was really popular.   
  
"Spin the Bottle? Is that when you first kissed her?"   
  
It was a lot easier to ask that stuff lying on the ground and facing the sky with my eyes shut, knowing that Max was doing exactly the same. It felt like just another stupid dream of mine, and when I opened my eyes and woke up, it'd be over, and I wouldn't have anything to feel embarrassed about.   
  
Not that I would anyway. All Max said was: "Yup."   
  
"So..." I searched for a subtle way to ask, then gave up. "What was it like?"   
  
I heard him shift around a little, and wondered if maybe I was making him uncomfortable by asking these questions. "Hey, Max," I said quickly, "You know, you don't have to answer all this stuff."   
  
"I know."   
  
I stopped talking, figuring that if he didn't want to answer, he wouldn't, and left it at that, reaching up to scratch my nose.   
  
My hand hit something. I opened my eyes.   
  
Max was leaning over me, looking startled and a bit embarrassed.   
  
"Hey Tyson," he said, smiling nervously and apparently at a loss for words.   
  
"Hey Max," I echoed. "So..." I cleared my throat. "What are you doing?"   
  
"Nothing," he said, and settled back down to the grass. He lay on his front, resting his head on folded arms, and carried on looking at me. I tried to relax, the way I'd been a minute before, but it wasn't working; I knew his eyes were still on me. Then I tried to ignore him, but that didn't work either.   
  
Eventually, I turned to him irritably, and snapped, "What? What are you looking at?"   
  
Max didn't say a thing, and he didn't look embarrassed any more either. Instead, it was like he was studying me, sort of... I don't know. He just was.   
  
So I tried to study him right back, but the truth is that with Max, that's harder than it sounds. I mean, I know this seems like something a mom (or my grandpa) would say, but it's true, Max wears his heart on his sleeve. You can just tell what he's thinking, right away. It's not like he tries to hide it, he doesn't need to, because Max just doesn't think bad things about other people.   
  
Because I couldn't think of anything else to do, I ended up saying, "What?" again, but it didn't come out right. It was too quiet, sort of a whisper.   
  
He didn't answer. Instead he pulled his arm out from where his head was resting on it and raised his hand.   
  
_What are you doing?_  
  
He reached out and touched my cheek, really gently.   
  
I was terrified, but there was no way I was showing Max that, so I just kept staring at him, daring him to look back.   
  
Which he didn't. His gaze was fixed on his hand, which moved down my face.   
  
His fingers touched my lips like he was a blind man reading Braille. I felt my heart beating faster and faster - which is weird, because I could swear I'd totally stopped breathing.   
  
I wasn't completely out of it though. For example, when Max leaned closer to me, I had enough reflexes left to roll away and stand up, real quick.   
  
"What are you doing?" I tried to yell, but ended up squeaking. Sometimes I really hate being thirteen.   
  
He grinned up at me. "Nothing," he said lightly, just like before.   
  
"I'm in no mood for games, Max!" I snapped. Geez, why don't I just stick a big sign on me that says "Mom"?   
  
It's okay though, because just like before, he laughed it off. "Calm down Tyson, you'll get a heart attack or something. Look," he said coaxingly, "I wasn't trying to freak you out or anything, it's just that if you want to know what something feels like, you have to do it yourself."   
  
"You were going to kiss me?" I squeaked even more obviously. He nodded. "But... But..." I spluttered. "But Max, you're a _guy_!"   
  
"Yeah, I'd noticed," he laughed. "Why, you'd rather kiss some girl you don't know?"   
  
I was taken aback. "No... But that's not the point!"   
  
"Then what _is_ the point?"   
  
I had no idea.   
  
"Look, the point... The point is..." I tried to figure something out quickly. "The point is, you shouldn't have done that! I'm not, I mean, you're not supposed to... To..."   
  
He stood up and brushed off the grass from his knees. "Hey, Tyson, why don't we just go inside and get a drink? Something to eat?" He reached out a reassuring hand.   
  
I went bright red and knocked it away, stepping back. "Back off Max!" I said sharply, raising my voice. "Just..." I took a deep breath and let it out. "Back off, okay?"   
  
Max nodded, but he looked stricken. "Sure, Tyson. I'm sorry."   
  
I wasn't listening. I'd started running.   
  
Max had tried to kiss me. He'd tried to kiss me, and I'd totally freaked out, just like a little kid! Max must've thought I was such a moron. I could just imagine him telling Kenny, or Rei, how they'd all laugh about it. Geez, I could even see Kai cracking a smile over this one...   
  
I screeched to a halt by the river, and glared into the water. "Hang on a second," I said out loud, after glancing around to make sure no one could hear me. "How is this _my_ problem? Max is a _guy_ and _he_ tried to kiss _me_! That's just plain weird!"   
  
Did that mean Max was...   
  
I started running again before I could finish that thought.   
  
Max called the next morning, like I'd known he would. He was sorry, I was sorry, we told each other to forget about it and that was that. Everything went back to normal.   
  
Well... Almost normal. The fact is, things had changed, and we both knew it. We were... careful around each other. We watched our words, and we especially watched how close we got. If our knees touched by accident, we moved away immediately and mumbled an apology, just like regular guys do. We stopped calling each other, touching each other and hanging out with each other so much. We were acting just like all the other guys our age, just like we were supposed to.   
  
And I hated it. I hated every second of feeling awkward, and I hated feeling like I didn't know what to say. I hated noticing Max reach out to ruffle my hair or flick my forehead then stop, remembering what I'd said to him. I hated the way we kept slipping into silences on the phone because neither of us wanted to say anything wrong. I hated- Look, there's no point going over it, I just hated it, that's all! We weren't really friends anymore, and that sucked. It sucked _big_ time.   
  
I'm not used to... you know, regretting stuff, but the three weeks we went through that - I regret those. I probably always will. I know I should have said something at the time, tried to fix it in some way, but at first I was too embarrassed, then I just didn't want to bring it up again after we'd pretended it was all over. Basically, Max and I were drifting apart, and I didn't know what to do about it.   
  
What was even worse was that I couldn't get kissing out of my head! How stupid is that? I mean, it's never even been _in_ my head before, but then suddenly I couldn't get it out! Every time a kissing scene came on TV, I was practically taking notes. I felt really pathetic, but there was no way I'd be that freaked out by someone kissing me ever again. Well, not even kissing me, he hadn't got that far. I'd gotten freaked out before then.   
  
And that's another problem. Because the other thought I couldn't get out of my head for that whole three weeks was:   
  
_Would it really have been that bad just to let him kiss me?_  
  
And that scared me. I mean, I know there are guys out there that like... other guys, I guess, but that's not me! I'm not one of them, and Max isn't either!   
  
But how could I be so sure of that? I mean, Max had tried to kiss me, and he'd been so okay about it! And here was me, wondering what it would have been like. Besides that, I actually missed the way he'd throw his arms around me, or grab my hand, or even when he'd pull my hat off (though there's no way I'll tell him that one!) I'm pretty sure normal guys don't care how much their other normal guy friends grab their hands, if that's something they even do at all.   
  
Eventually, I couldn't think about it anymore. I figured the only way to find out would be to go and see Max, get him to kiss me, and figure it out from there. I could stop wondering what it would be like to kiss him, he could stop feeling like he had to back off quite so far, and we could go back to the way we were before.   
  
It was a perfect, foolproof plan.   
  
Famous last words.   
  
Max is so lucky, he lives right above his dad's shop and training area. This means that if you want to get in after the shop's closed without setting off the alarm, you have to go to his back door. Just inside the back door is a narrow corridor where they keep their coats, shoes and junk like that, then there's a door to get into the shop, and next to it there are stairs going up to the first floor, where they live.   
  
I got to the back door and rang the bell before I could chicken out, then just waited for Max to come down.   
  
I almost had a heart attack when Max's dad answered the door.   
  
"Tyson!" he said, greeting me with Max's smile. "I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?"   
  
"F-fine!" I stuttered, trying not to look like I'd showed up just to get his son to kiss me.   
  
"And your beyblade?"   
  
A cool thing about Max's dad is that he only ever talks to me about things I like, like Max, food and beyblades. I relaxed a little when he said that, and replied, "Oh, Dragoon's doing good too! Thanks for the repairs after that last battle, by the way!"   
  
"No problem, Tyson. I'm just glad to hear it's lasting. That's a good blade you got there." I grinned proudly, and was about to ask him a question about the attack ring when I remembered why I'd showed up, and stuttered guiltily again.   
  
"You want to come in?" he offered. "I've just put dinner in the oven."   
  
"Oh, yeah!" I said enthusiastically without thinking. Seriously, he is a _great_ cook. "That'd be great, thanks!"   
  
And again, I remembered.   
  
"I- I mean, it _would_ be great, if I could, which I can't, come to dinner that is, because, because I have this thing I gotta do, and I've got to get it done, but I just need to speak to Max real quick and, and, is he home?" I said in a rush, feeling myself getting redder and redder.   
  
"Sure, I'll just get him for you," Mr Tate said, looking amused the way only a grown up can. "Ma-ax!" he called up the stairs.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
The moment I heard his voice, the reality of what I was doing, hit me like a train, and I froze.   
  
I was here to get Max to _kiss_ me.   
  
Suddenly this plan seemed a whole lot less perfect. I began to look for escape routes in every direction, but it was too late.   
  
"Come downstairs, you've got a visitor!"   
  
I could almost see Max sitting at the kitchen table watching TV the way he always did just before dinner. It's a familiar scene, one I know well and love to be a part of. I heard his chair scrape on the linoleum floor as he stood up.   
  
"Coming!"   
  
Max's dad flashed a grin at me. "I'll see you later Tyson. Thanks for stopping by, Max has been a bit down lately." He was gone before I could ask any questions, and Max reappeared a moment later.   
  
I caught a glimpse of him before he saw me. Looking at him critically, I could see that his dad was right; he was down about something. I wondered whether the new attack he'd been developing with Draciel wasn't going so well. We'd been working on it before this whole mess happened, and he hadn't asked for my help since then. That's another thing I missed, working on my beyblading with him.   
  
But just as I was thinking that, he looked up and I knew it wasn't that at all. The moment he saw me, his face just brightened, like my showing up on his doorstep had solved some unsolvable problem. "Hey Tyson!" he said happily. "What's up? You want to come in? My dad's just made dinner."   
  
"Sure!" I said eagerly, then slapped myself in the forehead. "I mean no, no I can't, I'm only here for a second."   
  
"Okay, so what's up?"   
  
I opened my mouth and nothing came out. Max waited expectantly. I tried again.   
  
"I..."   
  
"Yes?" I noted sourly that he seemed to find my speaking problems as amusing as his dad had.   
  
"I've been thinking," I said slowly. I waited for a "Did it hurt?" type comment, but none came. Like I said before, Max just knows when to give it a rest. Encouraged, I carried on, and said, "I've been thinking about that day, when you..." I swallowed. "And I was..." "Oh," he said apprehensively, his face falling. "Look, Tyson-"  
  
"No!" I squeaked, and he looked startled. I cleared my throat. "No, just listen for me for a second. I've... I mean... That is, I..."   
  
I gave up. "Go on, just laugh," I said grumpily, so he chuckled.   
  
"Tyson, what is it you're trying to say?" he asked, making it all sound so straightforward. I sighed and began to speak for what I was determined to be the last time.   
  
"What I'm trying to say," I said as fast as possible before I could mess it up again, "Is that I've been thinking about it a lot, and I think you're right, that you should kiss me." I took a deep breath. "So... come on, let's get it over with."   
  
I squeezed my eyes shut and waited to feel something on my lips.   
  
Nothing.   
  
I waited a little longer, then pried open one eye.   
  
Max was trying so hard not to laugh that he had both hands clapped over his mouth. I relaxed my face and glared at him, at which point he burst out laughing. "What is so funny?" I asked in a disapproving voice. He just laughed some more, wiping his eyes before he could speak again.   
  
"Okay, first of all, Tyson, do you even realise how ridiculous you looked?"   
  
If looks could kill... "Look," I said with some annoyance, "I haven't exactly done this before, I'm not sure what you're supposed to do."   
  
At this, he stopped laughing. "Hey, Tyson," he said gently, "The only reason you looked so funny is because you're all tensed up. If the idea of kissing someone freaks you out that much, then you're really not ready to do it."   
  
If I were a dog, I would have raised my hackles, whatever they are. Here was some guy my age telling me that I wasn't ready to do something he'd done years ago!   
  
"Besides," Max continued, "Kissing should really be a natural, spontaneous thing. This sort of planning never works out well, believe me."   
  
_Believe him? The guy's my age! What gives him the right to say this stuff?_ I rolled up my mental shirtsleeves. Max Tate would kiss me tonight whether he wanted to or not. I wasn't about to put up with being patronised by some random blonde kid who obviously didn't know what he was talking about.   
  
"And besides that-"  
  
"Shut up, Max!" He looked taken aback. "I mean- Geez, you sound like Kenny!" I burst out, and Max laughed. I shook my head. "No, don't laugh!" He stopped straight away, and looked wary. I couldn't blame him; this had been a pretty weird five minutes.   
  
"Look," I said reasonably, "If I say I'm ready, then I'm ready, and I want you to kiss me."   
  
This time, he shook his head. "Tyson, you're not ready."   
  
"I am."   
  
"You're not."   
  
"I am!"   
  
"Fine then, kiss _me_."   
  
My eyes practically popped out of their sockets. He didn't say it in a mushy way, or even a happy way. To be completely honest, at that moment, Max just sounded exasperated. "Wh-What?" I managed to choke out.   
  
"Kiss me."   
  
"But... why?" I flailed, stalling for as much time as possible.   
  
He sighed. "Look, Tyson, you screw your face up when you think someone's going to kiss you. To me, that says you're not ready, but you say you are. Now, all _I'm_ saying is that if you're honestly ready for this, then you kiss me."   
  
I rubbed my head. This had seemed a lot easier when I was thinking it through in my bedroom. Max was stood watching me with his arms folded, piling on the pressure just by being there. Not that any of this would have been possible if he hadn't been there, but that's not the point! Frustrated, I pushed out all irrelevant thoughts like that one and turned my brain around. I tried to figure out how to get the nerve up to do this, tried to remember from the movies I'd seen exactly what was involved with actually kissing someone.   
  
While all these thoughts were fighting each other in my head, I caught sight of Max.   
  
He was smiling at me, this understanding smile, and I knew that as far as he was concerned, this discussion was over.   
  
"Goodnight Tyson," was all he said before turning away.   
  
At that point, I abandoned my thoughts completely - after all, the thinking approach hadn't worked so far. I reached forward and grabbed Max's shoulder. As I wrenched him around to face me, I practically leapt forward and landed against his lips.   
  
That has to be the worst first kiss in history. Ever. I mean, I had no idea what I was doing! Actually, I'm pretty sure Max had no idea what I was doing either. I was just sort of clumsily trying to make my mouth and lips move at the same time and keep them against Max's mouth, that's all. Hey, it's a lot harder than it sounds, and I didn't exactly have any prior experience to draw from!   
  
Anyhow, it was awkward and bad and I was really embarrassed, but when I stepped back, I just had to say "Ha!" as triumphantly as possible. I'd said I'd get Max Tate to kiss me, and I had! Well, I'd kissed him, anyway. And I tried to make it triumphant, but it actually came out half-triumphantly, half-uncertainly, and I didn't sound sure of anything, but that wasn't the point! It was all done and over, I'd kissed Max and I could go home with the job done.   
  
I also meant to leave straight away, waving nonchalantly, maybe with some throwaway line like, "I'll call you!" or, "See you at practice!" Instead, I swallowed, resisted the urge to wipe my mouth and remained staring at Max.   
  
I expected him to laugh, I really did, but it seemed he was as shell-shocked as I was that I'd actually had the guts to do it, and all he could do was stare back with his mouth still open.   
  
Suddenly I was afraid. This hadn't gone to plan. A lot of things had gone wrong, and I hadn't thought any of that through. I could feel my cheeks go red as I realised what I'd just done, and looked at the floor, trying to block it out. I just wanted to run away and forget about it, but I couldn't do that either.   
  
I forced myself to look back up at Max, beginning to work out an apology in my head that could even come close to making up for this, when Max lifted a hand. His left hand, not that it matters. At first, I wondered if he was going to hit me, but it wasn't in a fist.   
  
He reached out and touched my cheek, looking at me with that shocked expression the whole time. I looked straight back at him, standing as tall as I could, really conscious of how I must look. My bangs suddenly felt like they were in the wrong places, but I'd die before I'd lift a finger to shift them.   
  
With his hand still on my cheek, Max stepped forward, leaned in and kissed me, right on the lips.   
  
It was different this time, very different. For one thing, despite what I might have thought while I was mad before, Max did know what he was doing; that much was obvious. He didn't bother with all that open mouth stuff they do on the movies, the stuff I'd been trusting to teach me how to kiss for the past three weeks. Instead, he just pressed his lips against mine.   
  
It was like you'd give someone a peck on the cheek, except it was on the lips and lasting longer. Once I'd figured that out, I realised that it was no big deal, I could do that! I mean, who hasn't given their cousins or grandmas or moms a peck on the cheek every once in a while, even if they didn't want to? So I kissed him back, just like it was his cheek and not his lips. And it was easy.   
  
Except a moment after I did that, he- well, I'm still not sure how he did it, but he tilted his head round and pushed my mouth open even more. Suddenly I realised that this was kissing, proper kissing like I'd seen on those movies. It took a little while to get used to, but it was okay. Interesting, even.   
  
Then he put his tongue in my mouth.   
  
If he'd done that right at the start, I probably would've jumped back as fast as I'd jumped forward when he turned away from me. By that point though... Max was right: kissing is weird, but the more you do it, the more you want to do it. This was actually turning out sort of... I don't know. Fun, I guess, but I don't see why. I mean seriously, kissing is about the most disgusting thing you could think of! I mean putting your tongue in someone else's mouth, touching their tongue with your own - how gross is that?!   
  
I guess it's different once you've done it, because now me and Max kiss all the time. Well, not _all_ the time. But when we're on our own, and we're not beyblading or eating or doing anything else more interesting, kissing's definitely a fallback. And it's nice, y'know? I like kissing Max, and I like holding his hand - that's something else we've been doing recently - and I really like doing both at once. Basically, I wanted things to go back to the way they were, and they have, but better.   
  
Max was the one to stop that kiss, of course. After all, at that point, he was the only one with any clue about this whole kissing stuff. (I'd just like to point out that that's not the way it is anymore, okay?) Anyhow, when he did, he didn't walk away with a cheery wave or a throwaway line like I'd planned to. Instead, he put his arms around me and just held me tight against him. I was so stunned from everything that had just happened, it took me a moment to hug him back.   
  
"I've missed you, Tyson."   
  
It was nice, holding him like that and having him hold me. I felt something at the back of my throat, and realised that even though we'd never done this before, I'd missed it all the same.   
  
"Same to you, Max."   
  
There was a pause as we just held each other, made the most of the moment, and the fact that things were back to normal between us. I was so relieved and grateful and happy, I've never felt anything like that before or since. It was good just to have someone to hang on to.   
  
After a few more moments, I heard Max ask:   
  
"You want to come in for dinner?"   
  
Another pause.   
  
"Oh yeah."   
  
"Cool!" He jumped back and grinned at me, laughing. I've actually never seen Max look so happy, and that's saying something. I wondered just how down he must have been in our three week non-fight, and was going to ask him, but decided to let it go as he bounded up the stairs yelling, "Da-ad! Tyson's going to stay for dinner after all!" and I heard his dad yell back, "Yes, I thought he might!"   
  
Instead, I just laughed for the first time in three weeks and followed him up.   



	3. Hearing

A/N: Finally. It's done. I've been working on this chapter on and off for over three months, suffered from various stages of writer's block, paranoia and plain disinterest, then five days ago, after writing an email at length on the subject, it started to write itself.   
  
But it didn't beta itself, and large amounts of gratitude go to diamond dew, who is the best beta I could possibly have. Also, big thanks to Ishshi, who, along with Dew, has never given up on this fic, in spite of the many false starts it has had, something that's meant a great deal to me.  
  
I also need to thank everyone who's reviewed this fic so far, you've all said such wonderful, motivational things! Thank you so much, and I really hope you're not disappointed. A good way to let me know is to leave a review or email me... *flutters eyelashes winsomely and inclines subtly towards the review button*  
  


**HEARING**

  
  
Have you ever had that feeling that things can't get much better... and it turns out to be right?   
  
Everything was just _comfortable_. School was going okay, I was beyblading enough that I didn't rusty, but I was still spending an awful lot of time with my friends - and especially Max.   
  
I never quite figured out what we were at that time, but this laughing, blonde kid was still my friend, and whatever else might have built up around it, that hadn't changed. We still watched movies, we still played video games together, and we still went to the park to beyblade.   
  
Which is where this all began. Kenny, after examining our blading critically for two hours, had pronounced our beyblades in need of a tune-up, and had just gone home to work out some ideas. Max and I were seeing how high we could spin our blades up the walls when he suddenly came out with, "By the way, you haven't forgotten have you?"   
  
"Forgotten what?"   
  
He gave me a mock stern eyebrow-raise. "If you don't know, then I'm not going to tell you!"   
  
"But if you don't tell me, then how am I supposed to remember?" I returned, and he laughed at our well-honed routine, just as he always did. Not that I ever got sick of him laughing or anything; let's face it, who could?   
  
"The party tomorrow. We're still going, right?"   
  
I'd forgotten all about it. "I suppose I could fit it in," I said nonchalantly, and he chuckled.   
  
"Well hey, if you're that busy, I'll tell her not to save you any cake. After all, what's the point in keeping you a slice if you won't have time to eat it?"   
  
"Don't joke about things like that!"   
  
He laughed again as he collected his blade. "So, are you coming or not?"   
  
The party he was talking about was for the birthday of some girl from his old town, and the fact is that I wouldn't have missed it for the world. It was the chance I'd been looking for to really get a glimpse of Max's old life - and besides, he said her mom and dad were really going all out with the budget for the buffet.   
  
I nodded firmly. "Count me in." He beamed at me, and I felt a little warmer.   
  
"So, what should I wear?" I asked, recalling Dragoon to my palm and tucking my launcher away.   
  
"Oh, I don't know, clothes?"   
  
"Very funny, Einstein, but what kind of clothes? Is it a dressed up party or what?"   
  
He shook his head. "Normal clothes, Tyson. It doesn't really matter anyway, they're just my friends, you know?"   
  
Why do people do that? Why do they just assume that their friends are so great that a complete stranger will love them instantly? More to the point, why do they assume their friends will love the complete stranger right back?   
  
I sighed, thinking wistfully of the days when I didn't care about all that stuff. I was just me, people were just people, and they could think what they wanted about me before I gave a damn. I don't know when that all changed, but I really wish it hadn't.   
  
"Hey," Max said softly, "Don't worry about it." I felt his hand slip into mine and I didn't even have to think about it before our fingers intertwined. That's one of the changes I definitely don't mind; I don't know why, but I guess I do feel sort of... I don't know. Reassured, I guess, when Max holds my hand like that.   
  
I'm less reassured when he grabs my hat, yanks it off my head and holds it as high in the air as he can. Jerk. Just because he's, what, two millimetres taller than I am, that doesn't mean he has to abuse it!   
  
After a couple of minutes of chasing after him, I eventually got close enough for an American football style tackle, and we crashed to the ground. I started again to tell him to give me my hat back, and he jammed it into my mouth.   
  
"That's not funny!" I said, more occupied with spitting out hat than with his loud laughter.   
  
"Yes it is!" he managed to say, creasing up again as I tried to wipe my tongue on my sleeve.   
  
"Seriously, I don't think this thing's ever seen a washing machine, I could die from just inhaling it!"   
  
He looked at me quizzically. "Tyson, when was the last time you inhaled a hat?"   
  
"Don't change the subject!"   
  
Before I could carry on, he leaned in and kissed me, another example of his constant power abuse.   
  
"You taste of hat," he said in distaste, wrinkling his nose.   
  
"At least when I die of hat poisoning, you'll be right there with me," I said, mollified. "But that still counts as changing the subject, and I'm still telling you to stop!"   
  
He grinned at me. "Look, honestly, as long as you turn up with a present, nobody's going to care what you're wearing!"   
  
Houston, we have a problem.   
  
"Yeah, guess you're right," I said, smiling weakly.   
  
Kenny showed up at my house later on, just as I was hunting for something that could be given to a girl for her birthday.   
  
"Why on earth didn't you think of this before?" he said as disapprovingly as always.   
  
"I completely forgot that it was tomorrow! Here, what do you think?"   
  
He looked at the ornament I'd just unearthed and sighed. "Tyson, she'll know in about two seconds flat that you dug that out from a cupboard the night before."   
  
"You think?" I examined the ornament, decided the Chief was right and tossed it back in the cupboard, slamming the doors hard before everything I'd uprooted fell down on me. "Thanks a _lot_ Chief, now what am I going to do?"   
  
When I realised that he wasn't saying anything, I turned to face him in surprise. The Chief always has something to say, even if it's just to tell me how disorganised I am.   
  
"Yo, Kenny."   
  
I expected him to snap out of whatever funk he was in, tell me it was my own fault I didn't remember a gift sooner - but he didn't. Instead, he continued staring really hard at his shoes, like they'd run away if he wasn't careful. I clambered down from the shelves I'd just been investigating. "Earth to Kenny. What's up?"   
  
"Tyson, this is hard for me to talk about..."   
  
_Uh-oh_. That was it, I knew for certain that something was up. Now, I know I'm not exactly the world's most sensitive guy, and I don't take hints very well, but that's just it: Kenny doesn't hint, and he doesn't find things hard to say. Sometimes this doesn't go down too well with people who'd rather he use a bit of tact, but I like the way he doesn't think too hard about what he says before it's out of his mouth.   
  
I perched on the armchair across from him and leaned forward. "Yeah, what is it?"   
  
He glanced up at me, then looked away very quickly, like he'd done something wrong. "Tyson," he began, and it was obvious that this was taking a lot of effort. By this time, I was leaning forward so far I should have fallen off.   
  
"Earlier on today... At the park..."   
  
I racked my brains, trying to figure out if I'd done anything wrong then. Nothing beyond the usual, and the Chief had seemed fine through the whole thing. Not swallowing his words, not looking away from me, and definitely not going red.   
  
"Yeah?" I prompted, more curious than ever. Unusually enough for the Chief, he seemed to be searching for a tactful way to put it.   
  
Apparently it didn't work, because he said in a rush, "I saw you and Max!"   
  
I felt my breathing quicken.   
  
_How much? How much did you see?_ I wanted to scream, but that's the one question that just can't be phrased without becoming pointless.   
  
He was bright red by that time, but forcing himself to carry on. "I wasn't spying on you, honest, I came back to pick up a disk I'd left behind, by accident, and I saw you two... Well, you know. You were there," he finished lamely. I have no idea if he was looking at me or not, seeing as I'd suddenly found my own shoes in need of attention.   
  
At this moment, I entered into the most awkward silence of my life. Neither of us wanted to say a thing, and frankly, I think Kenny's got some guts getting that far in the first place.   
  
Not that I was thinking this at that moment, obviously. In fact, I wasn't really thinking at all, and I think that became pretty clear when I started talking.   
  
I said smoothly, "Oh, you saw us beyblading?" and was overwhelmed by my brilliance as a liar.   
  
"No, Tyson, I saw you holding hands."   
  
While one part of me died right there, another part, a thinking part, recognised that this was manageable. The Chief's not too social a guy, and with a bit of persuasion, you could probably convince him that drinking gasoline is acceptable Friday night behaviour as long as it's in a glass with a paper umbrella.   
  
So I grinned - partly out of relief - and said, "Aww, Maxie and me were just kidding around, you know that! Don't you do that with your friends, Kenny?"   
  
"No, and I don't k-kiss them either."   
  
I froze.   
  
He'd almost choked getting the words out, but not as severely as I did when I heard them. There were plenty of thoughts in my head, but I couldn't focus on any of them enough to make sense in my mind, and instead, it just kept going back to one, hammering fact.   
  
_He knows_.   
  
"I didn't want to say anything, but I figured I have to say something, so I just wanted to, um, say that-"  
  
"Get out."   
  
"What?" He sounded as appalled as I would if a friend of mine was that rude to me, but like I said, I really wasn't thinking at the time.   
  
I jumped out of my chair. "You can't just come into my house and accuse me of something like this! Get out!"   
  
"Tyson, I haven't accused you of anything!" he said, bewildered.   
  
"You're accusing me of kissing another guy!"   
  
"Well, weren't you?"   
  
Too late I realised that denial would have definitely been a way to go about, oh, thirty-eight seconds before - but I tried it anyway. After all, my worst fears had come true, what did I have to lose?   
  
"How do you know I was?" I said defiantly, folding my arms.   
  
"Because I saw you!"   
  
"And you just jumped to conclusions?"   
  
He sighed with even more frustration than before. "Look, Tyson, I just came here to say that it doesn't bother me if you were kissing Max-"  
  
"I wasn't!" What can I say, I'm not one to take defeat lying down.   
  
"And," he ploughed on, "It really doesn't bother me if you're-"  
  
"I'M NOT!"   
  
He went quiet. I couldn't completely tell, but it felt like he was studying me, exactly the way Max does - but at the thought of Max, I felt suddenly sick, so I pushed it to one side.   
  
"Okay, Tyson," he said finally. "I just wanted to say that no matter what, none of it matters to me, but I just wish you'd told me. After all, if there's something that could affect your beyblading-"  
  
I cut him off with a snort. "That's a laugh, Kenny! You're not here because of the team!"   
  
He went silent again, and if I hadn't have been so mad at him, I would have felt sorry for him.   
  
"No," he said, barely audibly. "You're right, I'm not."   
  
I was - to put it mildly - a little surprised. I've been told before that I don't make too much sense when I'm angry, and the idea that I might have been right about something took me completely off guard.   
  
Kenny seemed to be struggling to speak, but I was damned if I was going to make it easier for him.   
  
"It's... I'm... I mean..." He paused, evidently trying to gather his thoughts. "I just... Well..." He gave up, took a deep, shuddering breath, and let it out slowly. Suddenly, the Chief seemed very young.   
  
"Tyson, it's... It's hard, do you know that?"   
  
I didn't, because I had no idea what he was talking about.   
  
"It's really hard trying to be your friend."   
  
Half of me jumped to my own defence, but the other half softened slightly. Out of plain confusion, I didn't do or say a thing, just kept trying to look insulted and aloof.   
  
"You have all these fans who send you letters, who stop you in the street and ask you for autographs, or who turn up at your house just because they want to speak to you! It's hard to be the person standing next to you when they do that."   
  
_What do they ask you in interviews, Tyson? _   
  
I sighed inwardly. Why does everyone around me act like it's my fault I get so much attention? It's not like any of them want it anyway, and seeing as someone has to deal with the fans, it might as well be me!   
  
"But that's okay, most of the time. It's hard to get your attention, but I know you were my friend first, so it's okay."   
  
Get my attention? I had no idea what he was talking about, getting my attention isn't exactly difficult! But he was still going somewhere with it, and I still didn't want to talk to him, so I bit back any reply I could have made.   
  
"But for a while now, it's like you didn't want to be my friend anymore."   
  
He was even redder now. As difficult as it was for him to talk about my personal life, it was much more difficult for him to talk about his own, that much was clear. The part of me that had jumped to my own defence pulled back slightly.   
  
"To find out that you've had such a major thing happen in your life and you haven't said a word about it... I feel like one of your groupies. I just wish you'd said something."   
  
And at that moment, when I actually wanted to say something, I couldn't think of anything to say.   
  
"Don't worry," he said, turning towards the door, "I'm going now. That's all I wanted you to know."   
  
He'd only walked into my room ten minutes ago, if that, but in ten minutes or less, he'd ruined my life.   
  
I heard him say goodbye to my grandfather, and I heard the front door open and shut. Then I heard Grandpa switch on the television and start on dinner, singing along to that stupid game show jingle, just the way he always did.   
  
For the first time, I wondered how I was going to tell Max.   
  
I swear, it was like my stomach suddenly rebelled. I felt my throat tighten and ran to the bathroom, only just making it in time. I didn't even get a chance to lock the door.   
  
"Little dude? Is everything hip to the hop?"   
  
I hadn't thrown up in about eight years, and I was totally embarrassed, especially when I started welling up. Throwing up _and_ crying, could I be any more like a four-year-old?   
  
But at the time, I couldn't do anything but stand over the toilet and feel disgusting, so that's what I did.   
  
And, as it turns out, it was okay. I suppose it's easy enough to forget that when I was a kid, it was my grandpa who took care of me, and that hasn't changed. He got me a glass of water, sent me to bed and brought up some toast later on. I know I wasn't really sick, but I sure felt it, and really appreciated not having to do anything that evening. The only real problem with it was that with nothing to distract me, I remembered what had happened every two seconds, so every two seconds, I realised what I had to do, and felt like I wanted to die. Not a fun night.   
  
At least I got some plans made though. Once the thought of Max didn't make me gag anymore, I thought things through rationally. I figured I had to tell him sooner or later - it's kind of an important thing - so it might as well be the next time I saw him. I decided to tell him after the party, so that at least he'd have a good time while he was there. I worked out the exact words I would use, and I got my facial expressions just perfect. It was a carefully planned operation, and I was determined to get it right.   
  
"You know, Lucy's name isn't really Lucy, it's Mitsu. She just wanted to have an American-sounding name, and she found out they both have the same-"  
  
"Kenny saw us kissing."   
  
Seriously, wait till after the party, was I insane?! It had been hard enough not to tell him straight away on the platform at the station!   
  
He looked up at me sharply and seemed almost suspicious, like he expected it to be the joke I wish it was. But it wasn't, and I met his gaze as seriously as I could.   
  
He went pale.   
  
I remembered confidently all the phrases I'd planned the night before, all of them carefully calculated to calm him down once the horror of it all sank in.   
  
"Well," he said, sounding resigned, "We knew this would happen sooner or later."   
  
I choked. "We did?" I managed to say.   
  
He looked at me in surprise. "Tyson, did you honestly think no-one would notice what was going on?"   
  
"Well, why should they?" I narrowed my eyes. "You didn't tell Kenny, did you?"   
  
Max laughed. "Tyson, that's lame and you know it! Why would I?"   
  
"You don't seem to mind too much that he's found out!" It was true. I'd spent the evening in bed, but Max had recovered in about forty-seven seconds flat. "Why else wouldn't you mind unless you'd told him?"   
  
"Maybe because I knew this would happen?" he said with a slight smile that infuriated me. I couldn't believe it. All of my planning to soothe him, and I was the one getting mad!   
  
"I can't believe you're just okay with this!" I said furiously. "Think about it, if Kenny tells Rei-"  
  
"_If_ Kenny tells Rei, which he won't, then Rei will know," Max said gently. "Tyson, these are our friends, they were going to find out what was going on at some point."   
  
"But there's nothing going on!" Max looked taken aback at this, but also a little amused. "We're just friends, that's all, just more than most people are!"   
  
One of his hands twitched.   
  
I recognised that twitch, from the awkward days after he first tried to kiss me. He'd been going to hold my hand.   
  
And thank God he didn't. If he'd have touched me, or even come near me at that moment, I probably would have hit him as hard as I could, and we could have been in broken nose territory.   
  
I was torn apart when I saw that twitch though. One side of me was desperate for him to ignore what I wanted, to take my hand anyway, but another side wanted to throw him out of the train for daring to even consider such a thing. The most objective part of me thought how sad it was that after all this time, we'd suddenly gone back to that stage.   
  
The train, which had been slowing down all this time, finally drew to a halt. Max stood up.   
  
"Tyson... We'll talk later, okay?"   
  
"There's nothing to talk about."   
  
Possibly the stupidest thing I've ever said, but he just nodded, picked up his bag and walked out of the carriage.   
  
I stepped off the train into a crowd of people, and noisy people at that. Looking over at Max, I could see that he was being embraced and cooed over by a whole bunch of girls - who, I couldn't help noticing, didn't exactly suffer in the looks department. Bitterly, I dubbed them his harem before realising that not all of it was female and not all of it was concentrating on him.   
  
"Oh my gosh! You're really Tyson, aren't you?"   
  
"Of course it's really him, don't be stupid!"   
  
"Hey, have you got your beyblade with you?"   
  
"Yeah, do you have Dragoon?"   
  
"You should battle me, Tyson, I'm pretty good!"   
  
"But not as good as me, fight me first!"   
  
This happens all the time, and then some. I plastered on a grin and gave them the automatic responses I give everyone, at the same time trying to sneak a sideways glance at Max.   
  
He was in his element. All these girls were hugging him, jumping up and down, ruffling his hair - basically, they were being girlish, and it was pretty obvious they worshipped him. A girl with her hair dyed blonde actually kissed his cheek at one point, after he handed her a present.   
  
Something clicked.   
  
Lucy. That's whose party it was. That girl over there, with her long blonde hair and stupid short skirt was Lucy, the girl who loved all things American - which apparently included Max.   
  
This was the girl who'd taught Max how to kiss.   
  
As I wondered if that meant indirectly, she'd taught me how to kiss as well, the train pulled away behind me.   
  
"Hey, Tyson, is Rei really that cute?"   
  
I wished I was on it.   
  
I don't know how I carried on talking, but soon we were in this girl Lucy's house drinking warm fizzy drinks from plastic cups, and I was still in a conversation with the adoring crowd around me.   
  
Actually, it sort of helped. I mean, the more they talked to me, the less typical their questions got, and I had to concentrate harder on answering. Every now and then, I'd forget what was going on - which was great and all, but it meant that when it did come back, it hit me like a truck.   
  
Things got better after people got the answers they wanted, then remembered they were at a party and went off to dance or something. After a while there were few enough people that I could get up and walk away without too much trouble.   
  
I sat on the front doorstep, breathing as deeply as my grandpa had taught me to, trying to get rid of this feeling sucking at my chest.   
  
"You didn't look too happy in there."   
  
It was some girl, one of Max's harem. I would have normally found some excuse to get away, but where was I going to go? Besides, she obviously wasn't here by accident; I figured even if I did leave, she'd find me again, and this was a less stifling place than most.   
  
"Mind if I sit down?"   
  
Her voice was soft, easy on the ears, so I said, "Go ahead," and indicated the space next to me.   
  
She sat delicately, moving carefully and tucking her clothes in various ways to keep everything hidden that should be. I've never really thought about girls' party outfits before, but they're pretty impractical. It was weird to think that she had to go through that tucking ritual every time she sat down.   
  
"So," she said kindly, "What's wrong?"   
  
"Why do you think something's wrong?" It was half-hearted, but I was at a birthday party; common courtesy insists you have to at least make the attempt.   
  
"Oh, please," she said dismissively. "Boys are so dense, they couldn't tell a thing, but any girl just had to look at you to know you were having a terrible time in there!"   
  
For a brief, alarming moment, I wondered if it was true.   
  
"I wasn't having a terrible time!"   
  
"Well, maybe not terrible," she conceded, "But not like you wanted to be there."   
  
I nodded, pretty sure that wasn't offensive enough to cause any problems for Max. Then I remembered - why did I care? As of Kenny's visit, I had problems of the huge variety and he didn't give a damn, so why should I?   
  
But I diverted this train of thought, determined to keep Max out of my mind .   
  
"So you and Max are pretty good friends?"   
  
Apparently this wasn't an option.   
  
"Sure," I said guardedly, trying to control the panic rising inside me. _What has she heard? Has Max said anything? Has he-_   
  
"Has he ever mentioned me?"   
  
A lesson in being self-absorbed: you're not the only one. This particular night, I was extremely grateful for that fact.   
  
"The only friend he's ever mentioned is Lucy. She's the one with blonde hair, right?"   
  
The girl nodded, sort of sadly. "Yes, that's her." She sighed, and tilted her head upwards. I followed her line of sight and found myself looking into the stars. _Great_, I thought sourly. _That's all I need, to feel totally insignificant. _   
  
"It figures she'd be the one he talks about, they were pretty close when he lived here. You know," she said, leaning in slightly and speaking in tones of confidentiality, "A lot of people think they'll get back together tonight, have a long distance relationship. She's really missed him."   
  
And the blows just kept on coming. All I could do was sit and nod dumbly, trying to hide the storm of thoughts in my head.   
  
_Has she asked him yet?_   
  
_Will he say yes? _  
  
_Are they in her bedroom right now? _  
  
_What are they doing? _   
  
"Of course," she continued obliviously, "That's unless he has a girlfriend where he lives now. Does he have a girlfriend?"   
  
I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've ever wished I could answer differently. I shook my head. "No, Max doesn't have a girlfriend."   
  
"Do you?"   
  
"No," I said automatically, and was rewarded with softness, as her lips pressed against mine.   
  
I won't say it wasn't nice. I'd had a pretty rough twenty-four hours, and some uncomplicated sympathy was exactly what I needed. Of course, ordinarily I'd get that from Max...   
  
I kissed her more firmly.   
  
I've come a long way from that first clumsy encounter on Max's doorstep, and could kiss without thinking about it, which is exactly what I did. Well, exactly what I tried to do. She didn't tilt her head the right way, and she didn't open her mouth widely enough, and her tongue was just in the wrong place, so I actually had to pay attention and focus on compensating for that.   
  
I don't mean that it was a bad kiss; after all, once we'd ironed out those little things, we settled into it a pretty nice rhythm. Only this rhythm was too slow, and her part in it was too soft. I tried to push her to move more quickly, to fight back a little, but it wasn't long before I gave up.   
  
The fact is, she wasn't Max.   
  
It had never really occurred to me before that people might kiss differently. I mean, it's obvious now, but at the time I was almost bored, waiting for the spark to kick in, where it stops being mechanical and starts being fun.   
  
It never did. It was soft, it was comforting, it was sweet, but it wasn't exciting. It wasn't even interesting, once the novelty factor of kissing a girl wore off - and it was never fun.   
  
Her hand, resting on my chest, slid downwards to my waistband. Startled, I broke off the kiss, snagged her wrist and moved her hand away.   
  
It hit me that if that had been Max, I would have let him. It didn't matter what it was he had planned, I would have let him do it. I probably wouldn't have even stopped kissing him.   
  
I realised that the moment I'd moved her hand away from my stomach, I'd let go of it. There have been so many times I've grabbed hold of Max's wrist - if only to stop him from grabbing my hat - and it's been a long time since I just let go of it without thinking. Usually we don't even let go, just end up holding hands.   
  
I didn't know what it was about Max that made him so different, but when we did stuff like this, it felt more than nice. This girl was nothing special.   
  
Which meant that Max was.   
  
A smile crept over my face. Max was special. This girl had been right: boys are dense. I hadn't even noticed that he was so important to me, and after my last words to him on the train, I had to let him know that, as soon as possible.   
  
"Thank you," I whispered to the girl, who looked more confused than ever. Who knows, I might have been the first guy ever to turn her down, she really was very pretty.   
  
"You're welcome?"   
  
I grinned at her as I stood to go back inside.   
  
I spotted him easily, surrounded by various members of his harem and with Lucy practically hanging off his arm. For a moment, I just stood and watched. He was really something to look at, even amongst all those girls. He stood out, and not just because he was blonde.   
  
He didn't need to hold my hand to reassure me this time; just by seeing him, I was certain that on the train that night, we'd get everything sorted out. We'd figure out something to tell Kenny to put him off the scent, and we'd be more careful in the future. It'd be okay. I wouldn't have to lose him.   
  
"Hey, Max!" I called out.   
  
"Oh, there he is!" Max said loudly when he saw me. "Sorry guys, we have to go, or we'll miss the last train."   
  
There was a chorus of disappointment, and lots of people snatched at my attention for the last few minutes, but I just wanted to get away from there, to be alone with Max so I could tell him what I'd figured out.   
  
"Max," I hissed urgently as soon as we stepped out of the house. "I need to-"  
  
"Not now, Tyson," he said shortly.   
  
"But I just need to tell you-"  
  
He broke into a run. Apparently, those last few minutes had cost us a lot, so I ran after him.   
  
Max loves to run, and actually does it for fun. Me? I was staggering and on the verge of collapse a quarter-mile down the road. He kept on going though, so I had to force myself to keep up.   
  
It was pretty humiliating when we got to the train station and I realised he hadn't even broken a sweat. I was out of breath for quite a few minutes afterwards.   
  
_Quite a few?_ Following a bit of a theme of that night, something clicked.   
  
"Hey, Max," I said, perplexed, "Is the train late or something?"   
  
"No. We're early."   
  
I stared. "You mean I ran for _nothing_?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
Something was wrong. That should have been followed by a laugh. Examining the timetable display, I made another discovery. "Max, this isn't the last train."   
  
"I know."   
  
"But-"  
  
"I lied."   
  
Something was very, very wrong. I'd never known Max to lie in his life, and to say it in that tone, with that lack of expression... It was actually chilling. I was desperate to know what was wrong.   
  
"Max-"  
  
"Not now, Tyson."   
  
I prickled. "Hey-"  
  
"Not here, and not now."   
  
I resented the fact that he thought he could order me around, but there were people on the platform with us, so I decided not to push it. Besides, hearing Max speak like that was intimidating, to say the least. So I settled back, and tried to work out on my own what could have gone wrong. A few minutes later, it struck me.   
  
_A lot of people think they'll get back together tonight. _   
  
Of course. Lucy. It was obvious once I put it together. I wondered what she'd said to make Max so mad, but I'm not a girl, I couldn't figure it out. I always thought they were more tactful than us, but I guess even girls can hurt people, and she'd probably been pretty disappointed after he turned her down, even though she'd hidden it pretty well when she was downstairs.   
  
Or maybe she didn't look disappointed because she hadn't been disappointed...   
  
My breathing sped up, but it was obvious Max didn't want to talk there and then, so I stayed in silence and breathed a sigh of relief when the train finally pulled up. The moment we stepped on it, I tried again, saying, "Max, listen-"  
  
"Not here."   
  
I began to get annoyed. "Then where do you plan on-"  
  
He grabbed my shoulder and shoved me hard into the nearest carriage.   
  
I've never really wondered if I could take Max in a fight - but I've never seriously considered that he might be able to take _me_.   
  
"Whoa!" I cried out, more than a little annoyed. "Max, what's this all about? Something's been eating you since the party, and I want to know what it is!"   
  
On the plus side, I got to finish a sentence for the first time in an hour. On the minus side, also for the first time in an hour, Max made eye contact with me.   
  
Did I say his voice was intimidating? Multiply that by ten and stick it in his eyes.   
  
"Listen," I said, trying for gentle and sympathetic, even though really I was burning mad, "I don't know what Lucy said to you, but-"  
  
"Lucy?" he said, his brow furrowing in disbelief.   
  
"Yeah, Lucy!" I could feel my irritation taking over. "Pretty, blonde, used to go out with you, remember her?"   
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Tyson!" he snapped. "This isn't about Lucy!"   
  
"So she didn't ask you to get back with her tonight?" I challenged.   
  
He looked at me like I was insane. "Yes, she did, not that it's any of your business!"   
  
I was incensed. "Not my business?" I said heatedly. "How is it not my business if you're-"  
  
"Tyson, it stopped being your business when you kissed Kagami!"   
  
So he was going to use that as an excuse. "Max, I didn't even know her name!" I yelled, fed up with this whole thing. "It's not the same as getting a whole girlfriend! Besides, she kissed me, I didn't go looking for it or-"  
  
He punched me.   
  
It took about four seconds of reeling to actually understand what had just happened, to realise that Max had hit me. Hard. And it hurt.   
  
It was only another two seconds before I hit him back.   
  
And that's how my first fight began. This wasn't an "I've got your hat, ha ha" kind of playing, but a real fight, where we both just wanted to hurt each other as much as possible.   
  
It stopped being Max I was hitting, and soon I was just caught up in the need to get rid of all the tension that had begun the moment Kenny walked in the day before. I lashed out, not caring what I was doing as long as there was a chance I was inflicting some pain while doing it.   
  
It probably didn't last as long as it felt, but it ended what felt like ten minutes later, with Max pinning me on the train carriage floor, his knee in my back.   
  
"It doesn't matter," he rasped, breathing hard, "If she kissed you! The point is that you kissed back."   
  
"But I-"  
  
"Shut up, Tyson!" he shouted through gritted teeth, clenching his hands tightly into fists - unfortunately for me, one of them in my hair at the time, and I winced. "It doesn't matter if you didn't mean to kiss her, the point is that you did! And it really doesn't matter if you didn't even know her name! The point is that you know mine, and you either forgot it or didn't care about it when she came on to you!"   
  
He relaxed his hold slightly, but I didn't even shift until he'd actually moved away.   
  
We sat in that train carriage, trying to glare at each other without actually making eye contact.   
  
"Can I talk now?" I asked quietly.   
  
"Go ahead; it won't make any difference."   
  
"I don't know how you can be so self-righteous when you and your ex-girlfriend-"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Ah, Tyson, would you let it _go_? Nothing happened!"   
  
"You don't need to lie to me, Max!" I said, raising my voice to match his. "You already said she asked you back!"   
  
"Yes, she did!"   
  
"Then why don't you just admit-"  
  
"I told her I was in love with someone else!" he screamed.   
  
And there it was. The first time someone's ever told me they're in love with me.   
  
Honestly, I would have rather he hit me again.   
  
He looked away from me, flushed, and I couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or just plain angry. Maybe it was a mixture; I know I couldn't pick one emotion and stick with it that night.   
  
In the silence that followed, I felt some of my anger ebbing away, but I didn't want to give up that easily.   
  
"So why didn't you just-"  
  
"My God, Tyson!" he yelled in exasperation. "You're such a _child_!"   
  
I bristled. "Say that again!"   
  
"You. Are. A. Child," he said bitingly, each word loaded with rage. "You can't even admit, just for once, that you might be wrong about something!"   
  
"You think I'm the one who's wrong here?" I couldn't believe how arrogant he was!   
  
He looked incredulously at me. "Go on then. I'm waiting. Tell me what I've done wrong."   
  
I said the first thing that came to my mind. "You just brushed off what I told you about Kenny this afternoon!"   
  
I expected him to blow up at me again, but instead, he slumped back into his seat. "I thought that might be what this is all really about," he said lifelessly.   
  
"You just acted like it didn't even matter," I said cautiously, wondering just where all his anger had gone.   
  
"Maybe because to me, it doesn't matter," he said, drawing his knees up to his chin.   
  
"But why not?" I asked involuntarily, bowled over by the very idea that this might not be as big a deal to him as it was to me.   
  
"I know what I think, and I know what I feel, and if people I like and trust find out about it, it's something I have to be ready to deal with." He rested his chin on his arms, which, for the first time, I noticed were scratched. Had I really done that?   
  
"One person." His voice shook, and I realised that his anger hadn't gone, just been swallowed. "One person finds out about us... and you just give up. That's it, gone." He gazed out of the window. "Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw you with Kagami?"   
  
His words sounded distant, like they were coming from somewhere far away - or maybe somewhere deep down. I've heard Max talk like this before, when he told me about his parents' separation, and when he started dwelling on why his mom was keeping her distance from him. Did this mean that to Max, me kissing that girl was in the same league as his parents splitting up?   
  
Suddenly, everything twisted around and blurred together, and while some things faded away, others came sharply into view.   
  
I'd been using this Lucy thing as an excuse to rail at him, but the fact is, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Max would never agree to something like that without telling me first.   
  
I also knew that Max would never agree to something like that. He'd made it perfectly clear that he only saw Lucy as a friend. It was also very clear that Max wasn't attracted to girls anyway. In fact, he'd now even said he was in love with me, to a girl who wanted to be with him every bit as much as I did.   
  
To walk away from that to see me kissing somebody else...   
  
I felt terrible. "I do now," I whispered, praying he'd believe me.   
  
He just nodded, staring out of the window as he had been since we stopped yelling and started talking.   
  
"You know, I couldn't wait to get here."   
  
"The train?" I asked stupidly, before realising he had to be talking about Lucy's house or our home town, but he actually nodded.   
  
"Yeah, the train. I spent all evening waiting to be able to get out of there so I could talk to you about what Kenny said."   
  
He'd been surrounded by friends, good friends he hadn't seen for ages - and he'd been thinking of me the whole time.   
  
I felt a little worse.   
  
"I don't know how you feel about this, but-" He stopped and frowned. "Actually, you know what? That's part of the problem. I don't know how you feel about this. I know how I feel about it - and now you do too - but I have no idea what you're thinking right now."   
  
"I'm thinking that I'm sorry," I blurted out, and it earned me the first eye contact of the conversation, a surprised glance from Max. Surprised, but also sad. Convinced that no response was better than some of the responses I'd had that night, I carried on talking. "I didn't know... lots of things. I didn't know you wanted to get out of there as much as I did, or I would have asked if we could go sooner."   
  
"I didn't know if you were still mad or not." He sounded tired, his voice as heavy as the expression in his eyes. "I wanted to give you time to cool off before we talked." He smiled ruefully. "Guess that didn't quite work, huh?"   
  
I smiled back, relieved. This was it. I knew it would only be a moment before he came and sat next to me, or reached over and took my hand. By the time we got back home, everything would be normal again.   
  
He didn't even twitch.   
  
The train began to lose speed. We both looked apprehensively at each other; time was running out.   
  
"Tyson," Max said hesitantly, "When Kenny spoke to you yesterday, did you deny everything?"   
  
I sighed. "Yeah. I told him to get out as well, I really need to apologise for that."   
  
"I want to be able to tell Kenny that he's right." He said it so calmly, so resolutely that I knew this wasn't something he'd just thought of.   
  
I swallowed. "What do you mean?" I wished he'd stop saying such horrible things, just reassure me and tell me exactly what I wanted to hear - the way he'd always done before.   
  
"I don't mean I want to tell the world or anything, but he found out, so I want to be able to tell him that he's right. I don't want to have to go through this every time someone might have found out." He seemed to flinch as he said, "I don't want to have to go through this ever again."   
  
There was a pause. "So... what do you want me to do?" I asked uneasily, dreading his verdict.   
  
"I've been so afraid of scaring you off by trying to stick a label on us that I haven't even mentioned it," he said in a subdued voice, "But I can't do that anymore. Either we're an us, or you're a you and I'm a me. I can't... I can't deal with the idea that you might forget my name again, like you did tonight."   
  
"I didn't forget," I interjected, feeling myself start to sweat. "I was trying to, but I didn't. I couldn't."   
  
He softened. "That's good to know... But it still doesn't solve anything. I need a yes or a no, at least for the next time I see Kenny."   
  
_Yes. Say yes. Say it now. _   
  
A million and one thoughts whirled around my head until I felt like a tumbledryer. It'd be so nice to not have to drop Max's hand every time Kenny came round, or watch what I say in front of him. Kenny had already said he was feeling left out, so that meant he'd feel better if we were just ourselves in front of him, right?   
  
I was so close to saying yes, it was on the tip of my tongue...   
  
_"It doesn't bother me if you were kissing Max." _   
  
_"It doesn't bother me if you're-"_  
  
I went cold. All the red thoughts in my head became blue, and I couldn't say it anymore.   
  
"Can't..." I started, then swallowed and tried again. "Can't we just go back to the way we were?"   
  
And just like that, I ripped his world apart. You didn't have to be a girl to see that.   
  
He shook his head slowly. "No, we can't" he said miserably. "We can go back to being just normal friends - but that's the only step back I'm willing to take. And I'm not even sure we can do that," he added, though it seemed more to himself than to me.   
  
_Say yes! Quickly, tell him you didn't mean it, that you've changed your mind, anything, just don't let him walk out of here! _  
  
I opened my mouth.   
  
_"It doesn't bother me if you're-"_  
  
I closed it again. I couldn't say it, I just couldn't.   
  
"Max..."   
  
"We have to get off soon," he said, standing and facing away from me.   
  
I began to shake. I knew my eyes were full of tears, I could feel them brimming up and spilling over, rolling down my cheeks.   
  
"Max..."   
  
"I'll see you later," he mumbled in a broken voice as he left the carriage and slid the door firmly shut behind him.   
  
I couldn't move. I knew I should follow him, and I desperately wanted to, but I couldn't move out of this one seat.   
  
It wouldn't fit in my head. No matter how I tried to force it, everything that had happened, everything that hadn't happened... It just didn't fit. I'd had so many plans, and they'd all gone wrong - this wasn't how it was supposed to go!   
  
I've never wanted to cry so much in my life, but the train was stopping, so I scrubbed my eyes a little, and hoped I looked normal enough that strangers wouldn't stop me on the street to ask if I was okay.   
  
When I stepped on to the platform, he'd already gone; run away, no doubt, as far and as fast as he could, anything to get away from me.   
  
Well, he could run, but I had to walk. I shouldered my backpack and started the longest journey home I've ever had to make.   
  
-------  
  
A/N: So far, Senses has been a very low-maintenance, low commitment idea for me, more a collection of one-shots than a multiparter. Well, this fic truly steps over the multiparter line, as I firmly believe you have to have read the first two instalments to completely understand this one, and - hopefully - you'll notice that this isn't the end, and/or that there is one sense as yet unwritten.  
  
However, for anyone currently looking rather dubiously at my average update rate, I'd just like to say that the final instalment is already written, and just needs some reworking and betaing before it will be put up in the very near future.   
  
But anyway, I hope this instalment didn't disappoint you! Let me know what you think of this one and also, if you fancy telling me, where you think it's going to go, I'd be very interested to find that out.   
  
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! 


	4. Smell

**Smell**

  
  
"Little dude! How was the party? Did you groove on down?"   
  
"It was fine," I called back. "I'm going to bed now."   
  
"Hold your horses!" Suddenly, Grandpa was in front of me, tilting my face up to the light. Was it that obvious I'd been crying? I looked away.   
  
"Tyson, my man…"  
  
Cringing, I waited for the Spanish Inquisition to begin.   
  
"Did you get mixed up in a rumble tonight?"   
  
The fight. I'd forgotten all about that. Looking back, I realised Max's face had been cut and scraped, so mine probably was as well. Only a little, but that's more than enough for the Grandpa-radar. "Well... kinda," I said as nonchalantly as possible.   
  
He jumped back and whipped out his training lance. "Where are they?" he snarled, waving that thing around like a madman. "Who's the sucker that's done this to my grandson? Ooh, he'll be sorry when he sees my mean moves!"   
  
I wondered what his reaction would be if I told him the culprit was Max. "It really doesn't matter, Grandpa," I said instead, avoiding his eyes, "It's over now."   
  
Over.   
  
I turned around quickly before he could see my face screw up. "I'm going to bed, okay?" I called back lightly, hoping my voice didn't sound as girl-pitched to Grandpa as it did to me.   
  
"You want some ice or something little dude? Maybe a steak for that eye?"   
  
_Stop talking to me!_ "No, I'm fine, I just need some sleep!" I began to rush my words as I realised I was on the verge of breaking.   
  
"Okay, I dig, you just-"  
  
I slammed my bedroom door shut and threw myself on my bed.   
  


*

  
It's kind of hard to admit how difficult that night was. I'd like to say I was a little down about it then picked myself up in no time flat… but that's not what happened.   
  
There was this dull, drilling ache right in the centre of my head that just wouldn't shift no matter what. I buried my face in a pillow, hoping just to cry it away - but I gave up when the lump in my throat began to choke me and my vocal chords started getting in on the act. The last thing I wanted was my grandpa figuring out there was more going on here than a black eye and cuts.   
  
But the lump in my throat was nothing compared to the lump in my mind. Whether I wanted to or not, all I could think of was Max. A million and one memories slammed to the front of my mind, bulldozering any walls I tried to stick in the way. Let's face it: by that point, there just wasn't anything important in my life that Max wasn't a part of in some way. Changing the subject wasn't an option.   
  
I wanted to see him. I wanted to see him so badly it hurt. I don't know when Max dug his nails into my heart, but they stuck there, twisting and pressing until I could barely breathe, I was crying so hard. Every now and then, my tears would slow down and I'd breathe more deeply, sure I'd gotten rid of all of them - but it turns out there's no such thing. I was crying all night.   
  


*

  
I told my grandpa I was still sick the next day, and stayed in bed the whole time. With nothing to do (and no hankering to do anything anyway) I slept for most of the day - which was great for getting my mind off things and convincing Grandpa that I was actually sick, but not so good every time I woke up and my head throbbed angrily at me until I went back to sleep.   
  
I woke up properly so early next morning that it still felt like night. Grandpa was asleep, all the lights were off and the street outside was quiet. Me? It suddenly felt like I was being suffocated. I jumped out of bed and instantly felt better for it.   
  
Better - and very, very hungry.   
  
I snuck outside my bedroom, tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen, and tucked in to the leftovers from dinner the night before. As I shovelled in mouthful after mouthful, it was impossible to keep a lid on the thoughts and memories I'd been pushing aside for the past day, and they came back in a big, mixed-up rush.   
  
_"Tyson, this is hard for me to talk about..."   
  
"There's nothing to talk about."   
  
"One person finds out about us... and you just give up."   
  
"Get out!"   
  
"So you and Max are pretty good friends?"   
  
"I told her I was in love with someone else!"   
  
"It really doesn't bother me if you're-"_  
  
I'm not.  
  
Am I?  
  
I chewed more slowly and gazed out into space. I wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that I could be wrong.   
  
That afternoon, I went out to make an apology.  
  
Kenny seemed a little guarded when he saw me - and I don't blame him - but he let me in anyway. I'd known he would; the Chief couldn't hold a grudge if his laptop depended on it.   
  
"I'm sorry." The moment I said it, I felt myself relax.  
  
Kenny let himself smile a little. "It's okay," he said, sounding relieved. "I should have expected that you'd be angry; it was thoughtless of me to just come out with it like that."   
  
Even though that's exactly what I'd spent three days thinking, hearing him say it made me realise how stupid that was. "Kenny, are you kidding?" He looked at me apprehensively. "No, I'm not mad!" I clarified hastily. "It's just, well... That took a lot of guts, you know? Coming to my house when you could've just stayed quiet - I don't think I could do that."   
  
"You're here now," he pointed out, but I noticed a faint reddening of his cheeks and ears, the Chief's usual reaction to a compliment, which is generally followed by a quick change of subject. Sure enough...   
  
"How did you get that cut on your face?"   
  
I winced. Apparently out of sight, out of mind; it was easy to forget that the signs of my argument with Max were visible to everyone but me. "I... Well, I got into a fight," I said reluctantly.   
  
"Did you win?"   
  
I was surprised by the question, expecting a violence-solves-nothing lecture, but said cautiously, "No."   
  
"I guess Max is stronger than he lets on, huh?"   
  
I looked up sharply - and he faced me head-on. It was something I wasn't expecting, having spent so much time dodging eye contact with Max on the train, but Kenny looked straight back at me with a neutral expression, as totally unintimidated by me as anyone who really knows me is. I sighed. "Yeah, I'll say."   
  
"Was it over me coming to see you?"   
  
"Yeah," I mumbled, wishing the Chief wasn't quite so smart.   
  
"So I... I was right?"   
  
That was it. My chance. All I had to do was think of a good enough lie, say it convincingly enough, back it up with "If you don't believe me..." statements, tell Max, make sure he stuck to it too, write it down so I wouldn't forget it...   
  
"It's okay."   
  
I looked up in surprise. Kenny was smiling. Not triumphantly or smugly or anything like that; it was more... sympathetic.   
  
"You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry, I shouldn't even have asked. Do you want something to drink?"   
  
And that was that. He'd taken one look at me falling apart, and brushed it under the carpet. He'd basically just told me I didn't have to talk about it ever again, and like Max had said, there was no way Kenny would tell anyone. I was free and clear.   
  
"You were right."   
  
He almost dropped the glass he was holding. I diverted my gaze quickly, no keener to make eye contact now than I had been on the train.   
  
"Tyson, it's okay, you don't have to-"  
  
"This is stupid!" I burst out, as much to myself as to Kenny. "You're my friend, I know that! You aren't just going to write me off, so why am I so bothered about telling you that you were right?"   
  
I hadn't even realised that I was afraid of that in the first place; but I guess sometimes speaking without thinking is a good idea after all.   
  
So I carried on doing it. I didn't filter anything I was saying, didn't think about it at all. I just talked.   
  
That afternoon, I told Kenny all about me and Max, from the very start right up to the very end. I didn't look at him the whole time, but I knew he was there. Sometimes, this was really... I don't know, comforting, I guess, to know that he was listening, that it was okay, and that I wouldn't have to hide this anymore. On the other hand, sometimes it was _really_ embarrassing, and I hoped I wasn't as red as I felt.   
  
But he didn't say a word. Not a word. He sat, he listened, and he said precisely nothing.   
  
As I kept on talking, and he kept on not talking, I felt something drain out of me. Soon, even the embarrassment faded, and I just had to deal with not sweetening my side of the fight - telling the story once was hard enough, I didn't want to have to go back and make amendments for accuracy.   
  
But finally, it was finished. I'd gotten over my worries, gotten over my ego, and for the first time I'd told someone absolutely everything that was going on in my life. And you know what? It wasn't so bad.   
  
"Thank you for telling me, Tyson," Kenny said, sounding genuinely pleased. "You didn't have to, and I appreciate it."   
  
"I had to tell someone," I muttered, now pretty much eager to let it drop. "It's been driving me insane for the past couple of days, I couldn't deal with it on my own anymore."   
  
"Even so, I'm glad I'm the one you picked to tell."   
  
Why did he still sound so grateful? I couldn't figure it out. All I'd done was to treat him the way I should have months before, the way I would have done if I were any kind of real friend. It was nothing to be grateful for. But I didn't know how to tell him that, so instead I said, "What do you think I should do?"   
  
I only said it as a way to stop feeling so awkward, but once it was said, I realised how much sense it made to ask the Chief for advice. After all, he knew us both but was still completely objective, and it's his job to find solutions to things. Why hadn't I thought of this before?   
  
"Don't talk to Max."   
  
Not quite what I'd expected. "Say what?" I asked blankly, more than a little confused.   
  
"I don't mean ever again, but you have a habit of saying things you don't mean when you're being rash, and I don't think you should speak to Max until you know exactly what you want to say," he explained. "And I don't mean just that you have an idea; I mean that you know beyond the shadow of a doubt, with every fibre of your being, in the very core of-"  
  
"Okay, okay, I get it," I said grouchily. "Now tell me why!"   
  
"Because Max already does," he said simply. "If you're not as certain as you say you are, you're going to hurt him, and that'll hurt you. And, by the looks of it," he added, glancing again at my bruised cheekbone, "You've both hurt each other enough already."   
  


*

  
I left Kenny's house feeling better, but still not good. Up until then, I'd thought that telling Kenny anything would cement everything for me, and there'd be no turning back - but now I'd told him everything, and nothing was cemented. He hadn't judged me; he hadn't labelled me. Instead, he'd done what he always does: listened, offered advice, and left me to it. Why had I been putting it off?   
  
It struck me that if I'd figured that out forty-eight hours before, none of this would ever have happened.   
  
I've said before that I don't normally regret things, but trust me, _this_ I regretted. My problems with Kenny were finally resolved - but if I'd just resolved them that bit quicker, there wouldn't have _been_ any problems with Max in the first place! I felt like banging my head against the nearest brick wall.   
  
I'd been so happy when I thought Max and I could work out a lie on the way home, and I'd been so sure Max would be just as happy, perfectly happy to go along with my plans, perfectly happy to lie to our friend…  
  
Way to make assumptions, Tyson.   
  
In the absence of any brick walls, I found a stone and kicked it, thinking about what Kenny had said to me about figuring out what I wanted. Well, that was great and all, but I honestly didn't know what I wanted. What I wanted or didn't want, what I was or what I wasn't; it was just one big mess in my mind.   
  
I knew that I didn't want anyone else to know. Well, that's what I thought, anyway, but I'd been wrong about Kenny, so was I wrong about everyone else I knew as well? Would Kai even notice? Would Rei even care? How about my dad and my grandpa? I didn't know, but the thought of finding out was still terrifying; if I was wrong, if I made a mistake, it'd be impossible to undo and make right.  
  
But Max had said he didn't want to tell the world, just Kenny. And now Kenny was told, the world was none the wiser - and here was me. Also none the wiser.   
  
Kenny was right. I had to take some serious time to think about what I really wanted, only talking to Max when I was completely certain. I felt totally calm and reassured: I finally had a plan.   
  
Imagine my surprise when I turned the corner and saw him sitting on my doorstep.   
  
I stood in the driveway for a moment, well into default stare mode and not sure what to do.   
  
He looked terrible. All the scrapes and grazes I'd seen on him a couple of days before had scabbed over, making it look as if someone had shoved him into a brick wall. Cut, bruised and pale is most definitely not a good look for Max, but he probably could have pulled it off if he'd been smiling in some way. Instead, even though he was the one waiting on my doorstep, he just looked surprised to see me.   
  
In that moment, right there, while Max was being about as un-Maxish as possible, I was suddenly aware that he wasn't sure what to do either.   
  
That made me feel better.   
  
He stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes, jolting me back to action mode. I picked up my jaw and walked forward, still with no idea what I was going to do, but pretty sure doing something was better than doing nothing.   
  
"Hey," he said, with this tentative smile. Another friend who thought I was going to yell at him.   
  
"Hey," I echoed. "Have you... been here long?"   
  
He shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I figured you or your grandpa would be home soon enough though."   
  
"He's out on the-"  
  
"Town, with his homies," Max finished, a smile edging across his face. "I thought he might be."   
  
Remembering we were still outside, I fumbled in my pocket for the door key. "You want to come in?"   
  
The words felt thick and uncomfortable when used on Max, but he didn't bat an eyelid. "If that's okay," he said politely, and I wondered if he could feel just how strange this was as well.   
  
Inside, I tossed my keys on the kitchen table. "You want something to eat?" I offered. "I'm going to make a snack, if you want anything."   
  
"No, thank you, that's okay," he replied, and I thought I saw him pinken a little. Apparently he did get just how weird this was.   
  
I pulled out bread, spreads, meats and sweets as I put together the perfect snack. What can I say? Stress makes me hungry.   
  
As I hunted for pickle and a way to open the conversation, Max said suddenly, "My dad knows."   
  
Two days, or even a day before, that would have merited a couple of smashed plates worth of shock. At that point, I figure I was pretty near immune. I just nodded.   
  
"Not about you, I don't think so anyway," he said, blushing a little more. "Just me."   
  
It crossed my mind to clarify once again that I wasn't like him - but honestly, by that time I was so unsure about anything that I couldn't even open my mouth.   
  
"I was... Well, he didn't actually say so, but I know he worked it out somehow."   
  
I wondered what had happened. It wasn't like Max to be cagey about something like that, so I figured it must have been really intense.   
  
Or maybe he just didn't want to tell me things like that anymore. I felt my head begin to throb.   
  
He put his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, looking out of the window. "And you know what? It's okay. I didn't think it would be, didn't know it _could_ be, but… it really is."   
  
I abandoned my sandwich-to-be and leaned forward, folding my arms on the counter. "I know," I said, adding hesitantly, "I just saw Kenny."   
  
"You did?" He looked up at me, and I got a full three seconds of diversion when I saw how impressed he looked. Yeah, it was slightly tainted by how totally _surprised_ he looked… But that's not important. He was impressed.   
  
I nodded. "Yeah, I did. I really was out of line, I owed him an apology."   
  
I take a deep breath. "And… I owe you one too."   
  
He shakes his head. "Tyson, you don't have to-"  
  
"Yeah, I really do," I cut him off. "I was being unreasonable the whole time, and I completely took you for granted. I'm pretty selfish, I know that-"  
  
"You're not-"  
  
"I am!" I insist, determined to clear my conscience once and for all. "I told you I didn't stop thinking about you, and that's true, but it was always you from my point of view. I never thought about how it must have been hard for you too, and I think that was pretty obvious. So I'm sorry."   
  
Max seems dumbstruck, and I can't blame him. Let's face it, me apologising for anything is pretty rare, but to apologise to quite such a degree is pretty much unheard of. "Can I talk now?" he says finally. I nod. "I should never have been so pushy, and-"  
  
"No, you should!" I interject. "If you hadn't, I-"  
  
"Hey, what is this?" he says, the familiar good-natured grin spreading across his face. "You got to apologise for hours, now it's my turn!"   
  
"Don't exaggerate, blondie, we've only been here five minutes," I point out, feeling a grin of my own show up.   
  
"Then stop changing the subject so I can get this over with and get out of your hair!" he says amiably, continuing hastily before I can jump in again. "Look, Tyson, I told you that you were a child, but that's not true, and it wasn't fair of me to say it was. I've been avoiding Kenny, but you just got it all sorted out, just like that, while I was hiding out at home! And I thought you'd yell at me or something for hitting you at least - by the way, I'm sorry about that too - but you've been... Well, you. And you're not a kid, and I shouldn't have tried to force a decision out of you."   
  
Once the air is clear, so completely clear that we'll never question each other again, a lot of other things become clear for me as well. I can't believe I haven't noticed them before.   
  
Max gets to his feet, the chair scraping on the linoleum floor. "Well, that's all I wanted to say."   
  
"Please don't go."   
  
He stops and turns, looking startled. I stand up, trying to gather the words I need. "I don't want you out of my hair," I say carefully. "I never did. I thought it'd be easier if you weren't around, but I was wrong." I recall the last couple of long, difficult days and pull a face. "Really, really wrong."   
  
His hand is where it always was, on the end of his arm and right by his leg. I reach out and take it in mine. Then I tell him completely and honestly how much I care about him, and he tells me that he feels exactly the same about me. Then we kiss, and it's like nothing bad ever happened.   
  
That's the way it should have gone, right?   
  
Well, it did. Right up until I told him I'd visited the Chief to apologise (and that includes him being impressed that I visited Kenny at all, by the way). But the rest of it is just the version I've come up with since then, the version I sort of wish had actually happened. Yeah, it would have been corny, and I could never come out with half that stuff in real life - but it would have been done. Resolved.   
  
When I told him I'd owed Kenny an apology, he just said, "Oh," then slipped into silence. Not just any silence, oh no; this was _awkward_ silence, something shiny and new for us.   
  
I felt the ache spread to behind my eyes.   
  
A few uncomfortable moments later, Max stood up, stared straight at the floor and said, "Well, I'd better get back home, I'm supposed to be helping Dad with a stock take this afternoon."   
  
It was obvious he was lying. Not _completely_ lying, I don't think Max is capable of completely lying - but he probably had hours before he had to help his dad.   
  
I nodded, but all I could think was how _stupid_ this all was! Max waiting by the front door, me offering to make him something to eat, him making excuses to leave early - it was all wrong, in what could have been a really funny way. I wanted to laugh, to share the joke with him, to have him agree that we were being morons and ask him to stay. We could have played video games, watched a movie, ordered in takeaway and stayed up till dawn, my grandpa would never have known!   
  
But that was all wrong too, now. Everything was wrong and we both knew it, so when Max said "Later, Tyson," and headed for the door, I didn't move an inch or say anything but, "Yeah, later."   
  
I went back to the bread, spooning out pickle and spreading it around. I stayed calm for about thirty-seven seconds before I burst into tears over the lettuce.   
  
We'd go back to being friends. Even when I was cross-legged and crying on the kitchen floor, I knew we'd go back to being friends. That's the way it started and that was the way it would finish, and while I'd miss what it had been like in the past, it just wasn't right anymore. And that was okay.   
  
Well… no, it wasn't. It _really_ wasn't.   
  
But it would be.  
  


-------

  
I'd sort of expected that if Max was ever out of the picture, I'd start hanging out with Andrew some more, or maybe Billy - but every time I hung out with any of them I just ended up getting annoyed. They didn't get me at all, and I sure didn't get them! Everything they did got on my nerves and I did nothing to hide it from them. After losing my temper yet again, it was kind of suggested that I take some time to myself then give them a call when I'd cooled off.  
  
About the only person I could stand to be around was Kenny, but with Max out of the equation all we ever seemed to talk about was beyblading. Sounds stupid, doesn't it? I say beyblading's my favourite thing in the whole world, then I don't want to talk about it with the only friend I have left. I used to think that I lived and breathed the sport, but somewhere along the line, I kind of got attached to talking about other things besides. I don't know how it happened, and I couldn't tell you what things, just that they never came up in conversation with Kenny.   
  
So I crossed off my friends one by one, and soon figured out that I'd actually rather be on my own than with any of them. So that's what I did.   
  
"TYSON!"   
  
Even though I jumped out of the way just in time, I still found myself flat on my face a second later. "What was that for?" I demanded, rubbing my head and glaring at my grandpa.   
  
"Your training, of course! Simple surprise attack, little dude!" He stood back and folded his arms, looking vaguely disapproving. "It's something you should have been ready for!"   
  
"C'mon, Grandpa!" I protested, indicating my beyblade. "I've been working with Dragoon all morning, you know that!"   
  
"Yeah, I know," he growled, "And it's all you've been doing for too long!"   
  
"Huh?"   
  
A few minutes later, I was out on the street with a shopping list and money.   
  
"Great," I muttered as I trudged down the road. "How'd I get stuck with supermarket duty?"   
  
The list was written on a couple of perfect squares; Grandpa had probably taken then from the notepad block by the telephone. Absentmindedly, I began to fold one of them, matching edge to edge and corner to corner as my fingers remembered my mother's words.   
  
"Tyson?"   
  
I glanced up automatically.   
  
Max wore the same expression of slight surprise that I'd seen on him when he last visited my house. It was only a moment before it disappeared, replaced by the grin I knew so well. He held out what looked like a red tissue. "You want some cake?"   
  
And just like that.   
  
"Sure!" I said enthusiastically and reached out.   
  
But something had happened. Max's eyes were fixed on my other hand, the one holding the shopping list. "I didn't know you did origami."   
  
I looked down - straight at the perfectly formed turtle in my hand. I crushed it in my fist. "My mom taught me," I said quickly, stuffing it in my pocket. "I only know a little. Just a few things. Only one or two, actually."   
  
"Your mom?" He offered me the cake again and I tore off a hunk.   
  
"Yeah." It was sponge, iced with sugar and filled with jam. Sugary sweet, just the way I like it. "She could make all kinds of things; you name it, my mom could fold it! So where did you get this cake?" I said, steamrolling over whatever he'd been about to say. "It's really good."   
  
"This? Oh, my family came over and we threw my cousin a birthday party. You know, we've got a whole bunch of leftovers; why don't you come over and help us get rid of them?"   
  
My heart stopped.   
  
Well, I thought rationally, if we could act normally on the street, we could act normally at his house too, right? Besides, this was something I had to do if I wanted things to go back to being Max's friend. I had to make an effort if I wanted things to get better.   
  
"Sorry, I can't." The words fell out of my mouth before I could catch them. "Maybe some other day?"   
  
It was painfully obvious exactly how not fooled Max was by that. He nodded. "Anytime," he said softly, then turned and walked away. I watched him go for a moment, half hoping he'd look back.   
  
What had just happened?   
  
I cursed as I wandered into the park. I could have been eating chips and sandwiches by now, playing video games with Max and talking about my blade with his dad! But wait, that wasn't a good thing - Max's dad knew about Max, and maybe me too.   
  
I stopped walking.   
  
Knew _what_ about me? What the hell was I so afraid of? I'd already gone through this with Kenny, just as Max must have gone through it with his dad! How could talking to Max - or even his dad - be any harder than that?   
  
Why was I acting like I had something to be afraid of?   
  
I smashed my fist against a tree - and yelled as I realised I'd just squashed some kind of caterpillar. As I wiped my hand on the grass and hunted in my pockets for a tissue or something, I found the origami shape I'd crushed so quickly.   
  
I'd lied to Max, for the first time in a long time. Before she died, my mother had taught much more than 'just a few things'. How to fold a turtle was one of my earliest memories.   
  
Suddenly I realised that my folded turtle was made out of a shopping list. A list for shopping I hadn't done at a store that closed in twenty minutes. With a yelp, I jumped up and began to run.   
  


*

  
"Tyson!"   
  
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I called, dumping the shopping bags on the linoleum. "I'm late."   
  
"Not just that, little dude; you've got a visitor!"   
  
I froze.   
  
It was too late to pretend I hadn't come home, or that I had things to do! Max had trapped me here, like he must've known he would. Maybe I could pretend I was sick?   
  
I practically collapsed with relief when Kenny walked into the room. "Kenny!" I hissed as my relief turned into annoyance. "What's with skulking around like that? Do you know what you just did?"   
  
Kenny looked startled. I grabbed his arm and dragged him outside where my grandpa couldn't hear.   
  
"...So that's the story," I finished, watching his face intently. "What do you think?"   
  
"I think you're being an idiot."   
  
My jaw dropped. "Kenny!" I whined. "That's not what I need to hear right now!"   
  
He shrugged. "I'm sorry, Tyson, but it's true. Going to Max's house is simple; it was talking to him that was the hard bit, and you've already done that. Why couldn't you do this?"   
  
"Hey, I didn't say I couldn't!" I protested hotly. "I just... didn't want to. That's all."   
  
"Tyson, you ran away. From dip."   
  
Well, I couldn't let him think that, could I? For the second time I grabbed his arm, and I yanked him all the way down my street to Max's house.   
  
Well, half of the way. About five minutes in, I began to sweat. "Hey, uh, Kenny?"   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"We only have to stay for a minute, right? Or we could just hang out at the front door, I'm sure he's real-"  
  
"No, Tyson," he said firmly, taking my arm in an unexpectedly strong grip - I guess all that typing does something after all - and pulling me down the road.   
  
As I began to drag my feet, Kenny clicked his tongue with frustration. "Nice try, Tyson, but not even you could be this heavy," he puffed. "Besides, Max is right there!"   
  
I straightened up instantly when I saw that he was right; Max was in his front yard, taking down some balloons. I could feel myself going red.   
  
When Max saw us, his eyes widened. He looked from me to Kenny and back to me again.   
  
I felt myself go even redder.   
  
He cleared his throat. "Uh, you guys... want some party food?"   
  
Things were a lot easier with Kenny around; it was actually an awesome idea of mine to bring him along. The three of us talked like nothing had ever happened, making everything that _had_ happened nice and easy to forget. I'd pretty near convinced myself that everything was fine when Max said:   
  
"So, you guys want to stay over tonight?"   
  
I almost choked. "Uh, actually..." I began awkwardly.   
  
"Sorry, Max, I have to go home tonight," Kenny said smoothly. "My, uh, Great Aunt Theresa's coming over tomorrow, and I promised my parents I'd be home."   
  
I frowned. "But Kenny, you don't have a- ow!"   
  
I rubbed my shin as Kenny coughed and Max tried to hide a smile. "Like I was saying, I have to go tonight. But Tyson was _just_ saying that he had nothing planned!"   
  
As my ex-friend beamed at me, I tried very hard to control the urge to strangle him with his necktie and turned to Max, ready to give some lame excuse.   
  
Max had been so calm the whole day, acting like nothing had happened; I figured he'd gotten over everything a long time ago. Suddenly though, his nothing-happened face was gone. He looked completely and totally like he wanted me to stay.   
  
"Sure," I heard myself say. "Sounds like... fun."   
  


*

  
That night, I was more proud of myself than I had been for a while.   
  
All day. I'd spent almost all day with Max - and not once had I slipped up. I'd not even twitched, and neither had Max. The transition was perfect: finally, everything really was over.   
  
Max was asleep, lying on his side with his back to me. His breathing was deep and even; it made me think of waves at night. I watched his shoulder rise and fall, feeling totally peaceful and serene and all the things Grandpa tries to get me to feel when we're training (I don't think he has any idea how hard it is to feel serene when you're about to be hit on the head with a stick).   
  
Suddenly I caught the scent of something in the air. It was sort of sweet, something I could instantly connect to Max. As I shuffled closer, I realised it had to be his shampoo or something; his hair had always smelled just like that.   
  
Slowly, totally not wanting to believe I was doing this, I reached out and rested my hand on his side. I remembered the days when I could do that while he was awake, when he'd turn around and hug me loosely as we lay there. This time though, I had to force myself to take my hand back and shuffle away again, in case he woke up and got the wrong idea.   
  
Only...   
  
I swallowed.   
  
Only... maybe it wasn't.   
  
Maybe the wrong idea... wasn't so wrong.   
  
My hands were shaking. Clenching them into fists, I watched the movement of his shoulder as it rose and fell, letting this 'maybe' work its way into my mind.   
  
Maybe it wasn't so wrong. Maybe it wasn't wrong at all. In that room that night, with Max right beside me, I didn't care about Kenny or Grandpa or Max's dad. All I could think about was that I wanted those days back, more than anything.   
  
So why couldn't I have them?   
  
I wracked my brains - but there was nothing. Any reason there might have been had vanished long before. I would have given anything, _everything_, to be able to get back on that train and yell, "Yes!" before my stupid side kicked in. People are always telling me to shut up; well, I tried that once, and look where it got me.   
  
That settled it. I hate regretting something I've done, _hate_ it - but regretting something I _didn't_ do is much, much worse.   
  
In that room that night, with Max right beside me, I decided I was going to get those days back, no matter what.   
  


-------

  
  
Even more thanks than usual go to **diamond dew** for her beta-reading; tonight, in true helpline fashion, she's been working through the final drafts of this with me over email and in a chatroom, helping me iron out absolutely everything I wanted to change.   
  
So here it is: the fourth installment of Senses. Fourth - but not final.   
  
When I went to visit the lovely and wonderful **Ishshi** in Canada, I flipped through about six pages of pencilly smudges and told her it was the end of Senses. Only three of those pages are actually written above. I know I said this would be the last chapter, but that was back when their relationship was wrapped up in a two minute burst of simple happiness (see the present tense section above? That was my first draft for the absolute ending. Disappointing, isn't it?) Now I'm answering a few more of the questions that are asked in chapters one to three and I'm resolving their relationship in a way that makes their evolution into Background Music territory feasible, if not immediately obvious.   
  
This fic has been... very difficult. Ordinarily I can depend on a first draft that just flows then only needs to be edited. Well, my first draft was the present tense section you see above. Cheesy and unsatisfying. A rewrite was definitely in order - but this one I'd have to _work_ for.   
  
Nothing has flowed. Nothing has been easy. This fic hasn't come naturally to me at all in any way. Even the pencilly, smudged synopsis that Ishshi glanced at took me months and months to write, with a wake of rejected plans left decorating rubbish bins in England, France, Germany and Canada. This fic has been hard, and I can't in good conscience make any promises about updates for the next one. All I can tell you is that with absolute certainty I _will_ finish this fic; this is my pride and joy and the best example of my writing ability that I can give anyone. That may not say too much about my writing ability, but this fic is incredibly important to me, and I'm glad that so many people like it.   
  



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